The apartment felt colder than the storm outside. The rain hammered relentlessly against the cracked windowpane, each drop a tiny percussion that seemed to echo the turmoil swelling within Adrian's chest. Shadows from the flickering streetlight danced unevenly over peeling wallpaper and cracked floorboards, casting the living space into a fragile, wavering half-light.
Mara huddled on the threadbare couch, wrapped loosely in a threadbare towel, her pale skin almost luminescent against the worn fabric. She trembled—not entirely from the cold—but from the fragments of memories that teased and recoiled like ghosts just out of reach. Adrian noticed the faint shiver ripple through her and was reminded, sharply, how vulnerable she truly was.
Between them, the cracked screen of the phone glowed faintly, illuminating intricate lines of digital code scrolling endlessly, strange and alien.
"What is this?" Adrian asked, his voice soft but edged with a cautious urgency.
She swallowed hard and met his gaze. "It's in my head. Pieces that don't belong to me but feel like they should. It's like I'm trapped between realities—what I remember and what's been implanted."
His brows furrowed as fragmented images from his own past flashed unbidden behind his eyes—the night of the hostage crisis, the fire, the boy's screams swallowed by choking smoke. The voice messages hiding in that phone were his own, warped and distorted by time, stored somewhere unknown and unsafe. He never expected to hear them again.
Before he could say more, the shrill sound of his phone ringing pierced the silence. Startled, Adrian grabbed it, his calloused fingers trembling slightly.
"Vale," he said, masking his unease with authority.
"Mr. Vale," Detective Rana Mehta's voice was firm, yet not without a thread of concern. "There have been some unusual incidents. I need to see you—can you open the door?"
Adrian exchanged a brief look with Mara, whose eyes flickered nervously. Without hesitation, he nodded. "Come in."
When the door clicked open, the detective stepped in, the faint scent of rain-soaked leather trailing behind her. Her eyes — sharp, inquisitive — barely concealed suspicion as she took in the room's sparse, worn details.
"Mr. Vale, your records show a troubled past at Vale Dynamics…" she began, voice measured.
Mara remained quiet, observing, her hands still trembling. The detective's presence filled the room with tension, the murmur of the storm outside fading behind the weight of unasked questions.
Adrian felt the familiar knot in his gut. He hadn't spoken of that night—the negotiations that ended in smoke and silence—to anyone in years. "I've carried that failure for far too long," he admitted quietly, stealing a glance at Mara, who seemed to absorb his confession like a fragile anchor.
The detective's gaze sharpened, but she offered no judgment. "You're involved in something bigger than yourself. There are shadows following you, Mr. Vale—things connected to your past, and now…"
Her words trailed off as a sudden crack of thunder punctuated the room's silence.
When she left with a warning to stay alert, the apartment felt emptier, heavier somehow.
Adrian turned to Mara as the rain softened outside. Their shared solitude was raw, probing. "Whoever you were… whoever you are now… you're not alone."
Her eyes, fierce but fragile, met his. "I don't know if I'm real anymore. Or just a shadow of someone who once was."
He reached out hesitantly. Her hand was cold but alive beneath his. "We'll find the truth—together."
Outside, the city drowned beneath a relentless downpour, secrets hiding in every drop.