Ava stood motionless on the empty train platform, the photo trembling in her hands.
"Are You really..."
Nathan's terrified face stared back at her from the grainy image—alive, bound, broken.
"But he was dead"
"Wasn't he?..."
Her mind reeled. It couldn't be real. It had to be doctored. A game?. Psychological warfare. Damien's way of saying,,
"I'm watching you".
But something about Nathan's eyes in the photo haunted her. They weren't just afraid—they were pleading. It wasn't a frozen expression. It felt… recent.
NATHAN'S Expression has haunting her!!
She flipped the paper over.
NO DATE. NO MARKING
Just one more question in a maze of unanswered ones.
A train howled in the distance, snapping her out of her trance. The platform had cleared completely. Only her and the shadows remained.
She tucked the photo into her coat pocket and walked briskly to her car, her hand unconsciously resting on the grip of her gun the entire way.
Back at her apartment, Ava locked the door behind her and pulled every curtain shut. The silence pressed in around her like a second skin.
She placed the photo under her desk lamp and examined it again. Nathan was in a dark room. Cement floor. No windows. A pipe running across the ceiling, low and rusted.
A basement?
She zoomed in on the photo on her laptop. On the edge of the frame, barely visible, was something white—paint, maybe. A marking?
She enhanced the contrast.
It was a number.
Ava leaned in.
B3.
She froze. Her mind striked.
"It could be meaningless. Or it could be a location tag. Some old industrial basements used codes to identify storage rooms or shelter spaces. If Damien had held Nathan somewhere before killing him…"
"Unless…"
Her throat went dry.
Unless he never died at all.
The next morning, Ava walked into the precinct like a ghost herself. Her eyes were heavy, her mind weighed down by theories and fear. But she couldn't slow down now.
She found Marcus in the break room, sipping Lukewarm coffee.
"You look like hell," he said without looking up.
"I need you to run a scan on this photo," she said, sliding a USB across the table. "Enhance it. Location-match it if possible."
Marcus frowned and plugged it into his tablet. "Where'd this come from?"
"It was left for me. By Damien. Or someone working for him."
Marcus stilled. "You're telling me he's playing games now?"
She nodded. "And it's not just games. He wants me to believe Nathan is still alive."
He raised an eyebrow but said nothing, just tapped away on the screen.
After a few minutes, he turned it to her. "The code B3 is linked to several old warehouses and bunkers. Most have been sealed or demolished. But one? Still standing."
He pulled up a file.
Bunker 3 – Ridgemont Industrial District.
"Used for chemical storage back in the '80s," he said. "Sealed off ten years ago after a fire. Nobody's touched it since."
"Or so we thought," Ava said quietly.
Marcus met her eyes. "You think he's keeping victims there?"
"Or evidence. Or… maybe Nathan."
"You don't actually believe Nathan's still alive, do you?"
She hesitated. "No. But I believe Damien wants me to believe he is. And that means something is still in that bunker."
That afternoon, Ava and Marcus drove out to the Ridgemont District. It was a wasteland of old buildings and broken windows. Time had forgotten this place.
The bunker was buried behind a fence and a cluster of scorched buildings. Its door was rusted shut, chained, and sealed with a government warning sign that had peeled halfway off.
Marcus cut the chain.
Ava held her breath as they pushed the door open. The air inside was stale, thick with chemical residue and something fouler—something organic.
They moved in slowly, flashlights cutting through the dark.
The corridors were narrow and lined with storage units. B3 was near the back, exactly where the blueprint said it would be.
The door was newer than the others.
Reinforced.
Marcus tested the handle. "It's locked from the inside."
Ava nodded. "Stand back."
She raised her gun and shot the lock. The sound exploded in the narrow hallway. The door creaked open.
They stepped inside.
The room was empty.
Just a chair. A table. A chain bolted to the floor. A bloodstain long dried.
And on the wall—photos.
Of her.
Dozens of them.
From the precinct. At home. Walking to her car. Leaving Nathan's apartment.
Ava's stomach twisted.
Marcus stepped beside her, jaw tight. "He's been watching you for weeks."
Ava stared at the images. "Longer."
She turned to the table. A phone sat on it. Old. Scratched. But still powered on.
There was only one contact saved.
Detective Sinclair.
She picked it up.
The phone buzzed in her hand.
A call. Incoming.
Private Number.
She answered.
"Nathan?" she whispered.
The voice was familiar—but colder now. Distorted.
"You were supposed to stop digging."
Ava's blood chilled. "Damien."
A pause.
Then laughter.
Low. Measured.
"I gave you a chance," the voice said. "But you're like him. You think truth saves people."
"You murdered him."
"Did I?" the voice said. "Or did he just disappear like all the others who got too close?"
Ava's grip tightened.
"I'm coming for you," she said.
The voice smiled through the static. "Good. That's what I want."
The call ended.
The phone burned cold in her hand.
They spent hours searching the bunker but found nothing else. No DNA. No recent activity. Whoever had used it had cleaned it well.
Back at the station, Ava filed the report—but only partially. She kept the photo secret, along with the phone. She didn't trust anyone else now.
Marcus stayed late with her.
"You realize what this means, right?" he said. "He wants you involved. Personally. It's not just about covering his tracks anymore."
"It never was," she muttered. "He's been selecting victims who get close. Who ask questions. Who see through his mask."
"And now you're next."
She nodded.
"I need to find where he'll be. Predict his next move."
Marcus hesitated. "There's one thing you haven't considered."
She looked up.
"What if he's not working alone?"
Ava blinked.
"What if the voice on the phone wasn't Damien? Or… not just Damien?"
That night, Ava didn't sleep.
She pulled out all the old clippings Nathan had collected and began charting them.
Locations. Dates. Victims. Damien's appearances.
And a pattern began to form.
Every three years. A new city. A new lecture. A new circle of influence. And shortly after—deaths. Disappearances. Coverups.
And every time, he left something behind.
A message. A symbol. A whisper.
Her fingers froze over one article.
An academic conference Nathan attended six months before he died. Damien had been a keynote speaker.
And in the list of panel guests—
One name stood out.
Dr. Eliza Granger.
A forensic pathologist. And one of Ava's former instructors.
The next victim?
Or a partner?
She didn't wait.
At sunrise, Ava drove to Eliza Granger's home on the edge of town. The house was surrounded by woods, ivy crawling up the walls.
She knocked once.
No answer.
Twice.
Still nothing.
She was about to leave when the door creaked open.
Eliza stood in a robe, eyes wide. "Ava? It's… early."
"I need to ask you about Damien Blackwood."
Eliza stiffened. "I haven't heard that name in years."
"I think he's killing again."
Eliza swallowed. "Come in."
Inside, the house was quiet. Too quiet. Books lined the shelves, journals scattered across the coffee table.
Ava noticed something immediately.
One of the books on the table bore Damien's name. Signed.
Eliza caught her gaze. "He was brilliant. But dangerous."
"Did you help him?" Ava asked softly.
Eliza didn't answer. Just stared.
Then, she whispered—
"I tried to stop him. But once you're in his game… you don't get out."