The next morning, the world outside looked painfully normal—milk trucks passing, schoolchildren running to catch the bus, sunlight creeping through the blinds like nothing had happened. 🌄
But Feriha hadn't slept.
Her mind kept replaying the messages, the silhouette, the file.
She sat at her desk with a cup of untouched coffee, scrolling through her phone. No new messages. No calls. The calm made it worse.
She opened her laptop and typed the name:
"Ravihan Sen."
The search results flooded in instantly:
Former Senior Detective, Criminal Investigation Division. 🔎
Suspended after a case collapse.
Accused of evidence tampering.
Displayed "emotional instability" during investigation.
Publicly blamed by victims' families. 👈
The articles painted him like a villain whose career had burned overnight.
But Feriha noticed something odd,
every article used the exact same phrasing.
Word for word.
That meant one thing:
they weren't organic.
Someone wanted him to look guilty.
A knot formed in her stomach.
She dug deeper until she found one grainy photo;Ravi leaving the courthouse with a blank expression, his left hand bandaged, police escorts around him like he was dangerous.
Another article mentioned the case he lost:
The Glass Circle Murders. 🔃
Her breath caught.
That name wasn't mentioned in any official database.
It wasn't in the file she found.
It wasn't anywhere else publicly.
Who had leaked it to the press back then?
Her hands shook as she clicked on the most recent update;posted two years ago.
"Detective Sen now lives in an old coastal town, isolated and unemployed." 🏝
Feriha exhaled slowly.
She didn't know this man.
She didn't know if she could trust him.
But last night's final message echoed in her head:
"He saved you once." 💬
Saved her? When?
Feriha couldn't remember anything in her life involving a detective.
Before she could think further, she heard a loud knock on her apartment door. 🔊
Her heart jumped.
She stood slowly.
Another knock;firmer this time.
Feriha peeked through the peephole.
A tall man in a faded jacket stood outside, hands in his pockets, looking impatient but strangely calm. His hair was messy, his beard uneven, and his eyes;sharp and exhausted,searched the hallway without looking directly at her door.
She recognized him instantly from the courthouse photo.
Ravihan Sen.
She stepped back in shock.
How did he know where she lived?
He knocked again.
"Feriha Devran," he said through the door, his voice low and steady, "open the door. We don't have much time."
Her throat tightened.
"Why are you here?"
"I got the same message you did," he replied.
Silence. 🤐
Her fingers hovered over the lock.
Something about his voice;calm but urgent,made her chest tighten. It wasn't a threat.
It was a warning.
Then he added softly:
"And if you don't open the door now… the person who sent those messages will get to you first."
Feriha swallowed hard.
The hallway suddenly felt too quiet.
She unlocked the door. 🔓
Just a few centimeters.
Ravi's eyes met hers;dark, tired, but strangely protective. 🕵🏻
"We need to leave," he said. "Today. Now."
"Why?" she whispered.
He looked over his shoulder once, then back at her.
"Because the first victim's brother disappeared last night. And the killers think you know where he is." 🙌