Rain hammered the windows of the downtown evidence room, a relentless drumbeat against the glass that mirrored the pulse racing through Maya Ross's chest. Outside, the city glowed in blurred neon streaks — red brake lights, green traffic signals, golden reflections bouncing off puddles. Inside, it was quiet, save for the soft hum of the security monitors and the occasional drip from a leaky pipe overhead.
Maya leaned forward in her chair, eyes narrowing at the grainy black-and-white footage flickering on the screen. A woman ran down a narrow alley, her coat clinging to her soaked body, feet slipping on puddled asphalt. The camera angle was low and off-center, but Maya had learned to see through poor angles, bad lighting, and even partial obstructions.
She hit play again.
The woman's lips moved. Fast. Desperate. Her words were almost indecipherable. Maya slowed the clip, rewound, paused, zoomed in. Each movement of the lips, each twitch of the jaw, spoke a language only she could fully read.
"Help... please... no..." Maya whispered under her breath.
And then, the woman's eyes lifted. They locked directly on the lens.
Her lips slowed, forming three words, each crystal clear, each cutting through Maya like ice water.
"Help me, Maya."
Maya froze. The cup of cold coffee on the desk trembled as she gripped it, hands suddenly slick. Her chest tightened.
"No... no, that's impossible," she muttered, leaning closer, squinting. Rewinding. Playing. Pausing. The same words appeared every time. Not a trick. Not a glitch. Not a coincidence.
She pressed the call button on her desk phone. "Lang?"
Detective Lang's face appeared on the small monitor in the corner, calm but wary. "What is it?"
Maya swallowed. Her throat felt dry. "You need to see this. Now."
Within seconds, he arrived, shaking rain off his dark trench coat, his face set in its usual mix of skepticism and exhaustion. He glanced at the screen. "Kidnapping case?"
"Yes. But... watch this." Maya hit play, and the woman on the screen appeared again. Lang squinted, leaning forward.
"She's just mouthing words. Could be anyone's name."
Maya shook her head. "No. Listen. Watch her lips carefully." She pointed. "There. There. Three words. She's calling me."
Lang frowned. "You mean... you, Maya?"
"I—I don't know. But it's my name. She's saying my name. That's impossible. I've never—" Her voice faltered.
Lang crossed his arms. "Okay... let's assume it's not a coincidence. Maybe she's seen you on the news? You're the forensic lip reader on half of these cases. But still..." His voice trailed off, uneasy.
Maya pressed pause. Her fingers hovered over the keyboard, trembling. "No, it's not just that. Look at her eyes. She's terrified. But she knows something. Something only I can see."
Lang glanced at the screen again, then leaned back. "Alright. Let's say it's you. Then what?"
"Then..." Maya's voice dropped. She exhaled slowly, forcing herself to stay grounded. "Then she's in danger. And she knows I'm the only one who can help her."
Lang rubbed his chin, a frown deepening. "You don't even know who she is. Or where she is. How do we help her?"
"I... I'll find a way. I always do," Maya said, but her voice lacked conviction. Inside, a flicker of fear gnawed at her. Something primal. Something she hadn't felt in years. The kind of fear that makes your chest tighten, your hands sweat, and every shadow in the room seem alive.
The rain outside intensified, a soft drumroll that made the city sound hollow and distant. Maya's eyes stayed glued to the screen. She zoomed in again. The woman's lips trembled, almost imperceptibly, as if she was hiding something beyond the obvious terror.
Maya leaned back in her chair, rubbing her temples. Her mind raced. How could this happen? She'd never seen the woman before. Never. And yet... that name. Her name.
A sudden ping from her computer startled her. An email notification. No subject. No sender. Just a video file. She opened it.
The footage showed a man standing in the middle of a deserted street at night. No rain, no sound, only the dim glow of streetlights reflecting on wet asphalt. The man's lips moved slowly, deliberately, forming a phrase she could read perfectly:
"I see you, Maya."
Her stomach dropped.
Lang noticed her sudden pallor. "What is it?"
Maya didn't answer. She couldn't. Her mind was already racing. The woman in the alley. The video calling her name. And now this. Someone was watching her. Someone who knew things no one else could.
"Lang..." she finally said, her voice trembling despite her best effort to stay calm. "This... this isn't just a kidnapping case anymore. This is about me. And I don't know why."
Lang said nothing, only studied her. He knew the intensity in her eyes. He knew she wasn't exaggerating. He had worked with her for years. And in that moment, he realized that whatever game had begun, Maya Ross was at the center of it — and that it wasn't going to let her go.
Outside, the rain became a curtain of white noise. Inside, Maya rewound the first clip one more time. She studied the woman's face. The fear. The desperation. The recognition. And beneath it, something else. A secret. A message she had to decipher before it was too late.
The shadows at the edge of the alley seemed to shift. She leaned in closer, heart hammering. Every fiber of her being screamed that the danger wasn't just out there... it was closer than she thought. Watching. Waiting. And it had been waiting a long time.
Maya whispered under her breath, almost as if to herself: "I'll find you. I promise. Whoever you are. Whatever this is..."
The monitor flickered. And for the first time, Maya felt it — the icy certainty that someone had just watched her back.
Somewhere in the city, the hunter had become aware that she was no longer just watching. She was watching back.
And the game had begun.