The detectives, they don't blurt things out. They just ask—and wait for you to slip up.
Argent Tech.
Staff Pantry Area, 8:43 AM
The pantry is quiet.
Only the faint hum of the espresso machine, the whir of the aircon, and the occasional rustle of paper cups are audible.
Selene stands silently, waiting for her coffee to brew.
Her eyes seem distant—fixed on the wall tiles as if each line holds a hidden answer.
She doesn't know if she's just tired, or if the nightmare in her chest is starting to stir again.
But the silence is brief.
Someone approaches.
She doesn't turn around.
But she feels it immediately—the presence.
Heavy.
Bold.
Sharp.
The kind of silence that doesn't need words to make you feel someone has entered your space.
"Dr. Cruz, isnt it? "
Selene stops.
Slowly, she turns.
Detective Leon Cortez.
Sturdy.
Formal.
Holding a cup of black coffee.
But his eyes?
Like a forensic scanner—peering into the bone, the soul, and everything she secretly doesn't want him to see.
"Yeah, that's me," she answers, with just the right amount of calm.
Controlled.
Composed.
But inside, something flinches.
Leon gives a slight nod.
He doesn't smile.
He doesn't introduce himself either.
"I just have a question…"
He hands her a file.
Old.
The edges are burnt.
As if it's been hidden under lies for years.
There's tape on the spine, and a marker on the side containing a faded code: CASE 0309-L.V. – CLOSED
Selene's breath catches in her throat.
She doesn't show it.
But her fingers tighten slightly around her cup.
Leon slowly opens the file.
Without haste.
As if he knows the explosion—will be stronger if not rushed.
Inside: several burnt pages, blurred photo scans, and in the center—A handwriting sample.
Circled in red.
Cursive. Circular.
Elegantly emphatic.
Selene's eyes drop to it, only for a second.
But a second is enough for Leon to see who'se hiding something.
"Why is your handwriting… the same as the teen ager who died seven years ago?"
Silence.
No air.
No movement.
Not even a brief excuse.
Selene freezes.
Her hand holding the coffee trembles slightly—just a flash.
But Leon?
He sees everything.
She bites her lip—but doesn't speak.
Leon sips his coffee like he has all the time in the world.
Then, he places the file on the counter, between them.
"I've seen a lot of lies in my time, Doc.
But that handwriting…" he taps the handwriting lightly, "That's not fabricated."
Selene remains silent.
But not because she has no answer—but because she knows anything she says now… can shatter the entire plan.
Leon leans in, his voice lower.
Steadier.
Scarier.
"So tell me the truth...Who are you?"
He no longer smiles.
He no longer hides his gaze.
For the first time… there's a question she can't escape.
Before she can answer—Someone else enters.
A young intern.
Clueless.
Holding a clipboard.
"Dr. Cruz, Mr. Villanueva wants you in R&D Room 4. Urgent."
Selene turns to Leon, her expression unchanging. "Sorry, detective. Work calls."
She grabs her cup.
Turns.
Walks away.
But before she completely leaves the pantry, Leon calls out.
"Luna Velasquez never got a second chance. But if you did...don't waste it lying again."
Selene stops for half a beat.
Then keeps walking.
But her pulse?
Already sprinting.
Not all the dead are gone. Some—are still etched on your palm.
It's late.
The lab hallway is quiet, bathed in clinical white light that hums softly overhead. Every surface gleams—stainless, sterile, untouched.
But in this moment, something breaks the stillness.
Two ghosts walking in opposite directions.
One of them turns around.
Ezra's voice cuts through the silence.
"Selene—wait."
He isn't sure why he said that.
He doesn't know why he followed.
All he knew was that if he let her walk away now, something in him would break—again.
Selene's steps falter, just slightly.
For a second.
It's as if she heard a voice that died long ago.
But she doesn't turn.
Not yet.
Ezra closes the distance.
He isn't breathing normally.
His heart feels like it's gasping.
His footsteps slow as he reaches her side—and then, he touches her.
He grabs her hand.
Gently.
Not with authority.
But with a hesitation that speaks of loss.
Of memory.
Of fear that if he didn't hold her now—she'd vanish again.
The contact is brief… but the damage is instant.
Selene freezes.
Not out of fear.
But because her body remembers this too well.
She turns slowly.
No drama.
No emotion.
But her eyes—those eyes—are filled with a storm she'd been hiding for years.
And for once…
There is no rage in them.
No sharp retort.
No walls.
Just grief.
History.
And something deeper than both.
Ezra swallows.
His voice cracks with something between longing and disbelief.
"You feel like home. But you taste like goodbye."
Selene blinks.
The words hit her harder than she wants to admit.
It's as if her soul is struck by a memory.
But she doesn't show it.
No tears fall.
Her eyes remain still.
Cold.
Steel-polished.
Because she is no longer the girl who trembled in his arms.
She is the woman who rose from ashes.
Ezra's thumb brushes over her knuckles—light, reverent.
As if her skin could give him answers his mind can't reach.
He steps closer.
Barely a breath away.
And then—He inhales.
A slow, deliberate breath—pulling in everything she is.
And when he exhales, the tremble in his voice betrays him. "You smell like… fire."
Selene tilts her head.
Delicate.
Almost curious.
But her eyes never waver.
"Maybe I was born in it."
Her voice comes out smooth—too smooth.
Like lava flowing under porcelain.
She isn't shaken.
She is unburnable.
Ezra steps back, just a fraction.
But that's all it takes for the fear to flicker in his eyes.
Not fear of her.
But fear of the truth she carries.
Because deep inside him, something is waking up.
Memories that don't make sense.
A scream.
A fire.
A name on his lips that night…
But no answers.
Just heat.
Just her.
And then—He touches his chest.
One hand.
Right over his heart.
Like he's trying to calm something violent inside.
His breathing hitches.
Not from pain.
But recognition.
From the feeling that something in him died once—and seeing her just brought it back.
"Then why do I feel like I'm the one who died?"
Selene's lips part—just slightly.
She could've said a hundred things.
She could've told him the truth.
That she died too.
That he killed her.
Not with fire—but with silence.
But instead…
She gently removes her hand from his.
Like closing the lid of a coffin he never even knew existed.
And she whispers. "Maybe because you did. You just don't remember burning."
She walks away.
No backward glance.
No hesitation.
Just a woman reclaiming her ashes, one haunted hallway at a time.
Ezra doesn't move.
He heard the sound of of elevator open behind him, but he doesn't enter.
His hand is still on his chest.
His mind racing.
His past catching up in fragments.
And for the first time—He isn't sure who the ghost really is.
No one speaks.
But the air?
Full of questions you can't get your stomach answering.
Ezra stays behind after Selene walks away.
He just stands in the hallway.
Silent.
Still holding his chest—the part where something seems to have been removed… or returned.
The surroundings are quiet but it feels like a silent scream is kissing his nape.
Not sound.
Only memories.
He doesn't move.
He can't.
It's as if his body refuses to obey his brain.
He feels like a child again—abandoned in the darkness he created himself.
He breathes.
Slowly.
Heavily.
Then a flash of memory returns.
A girl burning.
Screaming.
His name.
"Ezra—!"
That scream—has been buried in his dreams for a long time.
Repeatedly.
But only now does he hear it in the presence of someone alive. Or is she?
But in real time, he did nothing.
That was the night the ambulance pulled only one body.
Only one body.
Only one tag.
Only one death certificate.
But why now, does he hear the scream again?
Not in his ears—but in his skin.
In his veins.
Between each heartbeat.
He turns his head slowly toward the direction Selene walked.
Slowly.
As if he'll hit something.
She left a scent.
She left a question.
Smoke.
Lavender.
Luna.
He clenches his jaw.
The air he breathed chokes him.
He runs a hand through his hair.
Messed up.
His hair is disheveled.
His heart is confused.
"It can't be. She's dead, right?"
But deep down… something never let her die.
Then—he pulls out his phone.
His fingers tremble, even though he's used to cold calculations.
But now, he's not facing numbers.
Ghosts.
Memories.
Guilt.
He opens the old photo from the fire report.
Zooms in.
Pauses.
Shaky footage.
A shadow on the edge of the screen.
It shouldn't have been there before.
But now—a different perspective.
Those eyes.
Her eyes.
Selene's eyes.
Same stare.
Same soul.
Different name.
He can't breathe.
He closes his eyes for a moment, hoping that when he opens them, the alignment of the dead and the living will disappear.
But it's still there.
He whispers, broken: "If she's not a ghost… it means—she's alive. And I've lied to myself my whole life."
His whole life, he accepted that Luna was gone.
But now that he feels her touch again.
The warmth.
The glance that seems capable of splitting a soul.
What if everything he believed to be true was wrong?
Ezra calls his security team.
He presses the emergency channel under their system—reserved only for high-level threats… or ghosts.
His voice is tight.
Controlled.
But there's a tear in it.
"I need everything on Dr. Selene Cruz. Background. Files. Birth records.
If she's who I think she is…"
He stops.
Looks at the hand that was just holding the hand of a ghost.
His voice cracks. "Then I buried the wrong girl...?"