The sky was gray again, like the city itself was still holding its breath.
Grace hadn't said a word since they left Neurovita. The drive back was silent except for the soft hum of the car and the occasional wiper dragging across the windshield. Mia kept glancing at her, trying to read her expression, but Grace's face was unreadable—like glass about to crack.
When they finally pulled up outside Ethan's apartment, Grace turned off the ignition but didn't move. "He wasn't lying," she murmured.
Mia frowned. "Who? Daniel?"
Grace nodded slowly. "He said the system still owns me. He meant it."
Mia crossed her arms. "He was trying to scare you."
"No," Grace whispered. "He was warning me."
---
Ethan opened the door before they knocked. His hair was a mess, shirt half-buttoned, laptop glowing on the table behind him. "You two look like you just walked out of a storm."
Grace walked past him, straight to the laptop. "You found something."
He hesitated, then nodded. "The backup files weren't the only thing on the drive. There's a hidden partition—encrypted. Took me the entire night to open it."
Mia leaned against the wall, arms folded. "What's in it?"
Ethan clicked a few keys. The screen filled with lines of data, names, and session codes. "They called it Project Ghost. Daniel wasn't the only one. There were five other therapists, all connected to the same fund—Neurovita was just the shell. It's been running for over a decade."
Grace's breath caught. "Patients?"
"Hundreds." Ethan pointed at the screen. "Every one of them matches a trauma case—memory loss, dissociation, grief. Their treatment plans were identical. Controlled erasure therapy. Someone paid a lot to keep these people quiet."
Mia's voice went flat. "You're saying there are others like Grace?"
"Dozens," Ethan said. "Maybe more."
Grace stared at the scrolling list of names—men, women, even children. Every line a person whose mind had been rewritten. "Who funded it?"
Ethan hesitated. "A foundation called Holloway Trust."
The room froze.
Mia's eyes snapped to Grace. "That's—"
"Our parents' trust," Grace whispered.
Ethan nodded grimly. "It looks like the money was redirected after the fire. Someone used the inheritance to fund Project Ghost."
Grace's legs gave out and she sank into a chair. "No… that's not possible. They died before any of this."
Mia's jaw tightened. "Or someone used their names to cover it up."
Ethan clicked again, pulling up another file. "There's more. Board members—Mark Pierce. Daniel Pierce. And one name listed as founder: Dr. Margaret Holloway."
Grace's heart stopped. "Mom?"
Mia shook her head. "That's impossible."
Ethan looked between them. "The signature matches. I cross-checked it."
For a long time, no one moved. Grace could hear her heartbeat in her ears. Her mother—the woman she'd mourned, the woman who'd supposedly died in that fire—was listed as the founder of the program that had stolen her memories.
"She's dead," Mia said, voice trembling. "I saw her."
Grace stood, pacing. "What if you didn't? What if that's the memory Daniel altered first?"
The idea hung in the air like smoke.
Ethan exhaled. "If she's alive, she's the one behind everything."
Mia shook her head in disbelief. "You're saying Mom burned our house down, faked her death, and then started a company to erase our trauma?"
Grace turned to her, eyes glistening. "I'm saying I don't know what's real anymore. But I'm going to find out."
Ethan closed the laptop. "There's a location embedded in the metadata. A rural address outside the city limits—Hollow Street, where the old clinic used to be. It's been offline for years, but someone accessed it three days ago."
Grace looked out the window, where rain had started again, soft and slow. "Then that's where we start."
Mia hesitated. "You really think she's there?"
Grace's expression hardened. "If she's not, then whatever's waiting will have the answers."
---
The drive out of the city was long and quiet. The road narrowed into a winding path lined with trees stripped bare by wind. The last remnants of daylight melted into fog. Mia gripped the steering wheel tighter. "You're shaking."
Grace looked down at her hands. "I've been chasing ghosts for so long… I didn't think one of them would be her."
When they reached the end of the road, the headlights revealed a crumbling building hidden behind iron gates. The sign was rusted, the letters barely legible: Holloway Institute of Behavioral Research.
Grace stepped out, the cold biting through her coat. "She left her name everywhere," she said softly.
Mia joined her, scanning the darkness. "Then maybe she wants us to find her."
They pushed open the gate. It groaned like something alive. Inside, the air was thick with the scent of decay and rain-soaked paper. The halls were littered with broken machines and old medical files. Grace's flashlight cut through the dark, landing on a cracked photograph still pinned to the wall.
It was a picture of their mother—smiling, proud, standing beside a plaque that read 'To heal the fractured mind.'
Mia stared at it, her face pale. "She's really behind this."
Grace touched the glass. "Or she was part of it. Either way, we're going to find out what happened that night."
Behind them, a faint sound echoed—footsteps.
Not theirs.
Slow. Deliberate.
Grace turned off the flashlight. "We're not alone."
Mia's breath hitched. "Grace—"
But Grace was already moving, her pulse hammering. Somewhere in the dark, a shadow shifted, followed by a voice that sent chills racing down her spine.
"Welcome home, Grace."