The rain never stopped in Velridge. It only changed its rhythm, like a drummer trying to remember a beat long lost.
I stared at my reflection in the puddle. No ripples, no breath, just a faint blue glow bleeding from my pupils.
"Alright," I muttered, "either I'm dead, or someone swapped my coffee for something poisonous again."
A soft thud broke the silence. The cat from before sat neatly on top of a crushed trash bin, its tail swaying like a metronome of judgment.
"Dead," it said flatly. "Definitely dead. You smell like it too."
I blinked. "And you talk. Wonderful. I've officially lost it."
The cat tilted its head. "Or maybe you've just caught up. You were always behind, detective."
My mind stuttered. "You know who I am?"
The cat yawned, utterly unimpressed. "Everyone knows who you were. Elior Vane, the man who solved the case of the Vanishing Choir. The man who disappeared seven years ago. The Bureau wrote you off as occupationally deceased."
"Occupationally what? That isn't even a thing."
The cat's golden eyes flickered. "You're talking too loud. They can hear dead men who remember."
"Who is they?" I asked.
The air around us shifted before it could answer. The neon lights dimmed one by one until the only glow came from the faint runes crawling along the puddles at my feet. The air grew heavy and tense, as if the city itself was holding its breath.
Something was coming.
The cat jumped down, claws scraping against the wet cobblestone. "You might want to start running."
"Why?"
"Because that is your shadow moving on its own."
I turned. My shadow was peeling itself off the wall, stretching and twisting until it looked like a human shape made of smoke and lightning. It tilted its head, mimicking my movements a heartbeat too late.
"You have got to be kidding me," I muttered.
"No," the cat said. "Welcome back to Velridge, detective. Same old nightmare."
The shadow lunged.
I reached for my gun, but there was none. Instead, a faint hum filled my palm and a cold blue light flared from my fingers. Instinct took over before logic could.
The blast struck the shadow in the chest. It screamed, a sound like static and thunder, before dissolving into smoke.
Silence followed. Only the rain and the weak buzz of dying neon remained.
The cat climbed onto my shoulder as if it owned the place. "Still got it. Looks like being dead did not ruin your aim."
I stared at my glowing hand. "What was that?"
"That was a memory of yourself trying to kill you. Do not take it personally. The city does not like people who come back."
I closed my eyes while the rain tapped gently against my skin. If I wanted answers, I would have to find the Bureau and the person who signed my death certificate twice.
And if I truly was dead, then someone out there was using my corpse to finish the cases I never could.