Evelyn woke to the sound of knocking—soft, patient, unmistakably human.
For one panicked second, she didn't know where she was. The ceiling above her looked unfamiliar, too white, too calm. Her heart raced as she sat up, fingers digging into the sheets as if they might slide away. The events of the previous night hovered just out of reach, like a dream that refused to solidify.
The knock came again.
"Evelyn?" a man called through the door. "It's me."
Her breath caught.
She recognized the voice before the name arrived.
"Lucas."
She swung her legs over the side of the bed, head spinning. The clock on her nightstand read 7:12 a.m. She had no memory of going to sleep. No memory of changing into the oversized T-shirt she wore now. Panic flickered—but didn't bloom.
Something inside her pressed gently downward.
Easy, a quiet presence seemed to say. He's safe.
She frowned, confused by the sudden calm, and padded to the door.
When she opened it, Lucas Vale stood in the hallway with two paper cups of coffee and a small, uncertain smile. He looked tired—dark circles under his eyes, jacket still wrinkled as if he'd slept in it. His brown hair was damp, like he'd run his hands through it one too many times.
"I wasn't sure if you'd answer," he said. "I knocked earlier too."
Earlier.
Evelyn's fingers tightened on the doorframe. "How long have you been here?"
Lucas hesitated. "About twenty minutes." He studied her face carefully, as if reading a language he'd learned by heart. "You okay?"
She nodded automatically, then stopped herself. "I don't know," she said honestly.
That made his shoulders relax—not because she was fine, but because she was telling the truth.
"Can I come in?" he asked.
She stepped aside.
The apartment looked different in daylight. Less threatening. Still unfamiliar. Lucas set the coffees on the kitchen counter and leaned back against it, giving her space.
"I heard about your uncle," he said quietly.
The words landed heavier than she expected.
"They think it was murder," Evelyn replied. "I don't remember yesterday."
Lucas didn't flinch.
Instead, he asked, "Do you want to sit?"
They did—across from each other at the small kitchen table. Steam curled from the coffee cups, grounding the moment.
"Do you remember calling me?" Lucas asked.
Her stomach dropped. "I called you?"
"Last night. Around eleven." He watched her carefully. "You said you didn't want to be alone."
Shame crept up her spine. "I'm sorry. I don't—"
"Don't," he interrupted gently. "You don't have to explain."
She looked at him then, really looked. He wasn't afraid of her confusion. He wasn't searching her face for cracks. He was just… there.
"Why are you like this?" she asked suddenly.
Lucas blinked. "Like what?"
"Still here," she said. "I forget things. I disappear. I say things I don't remember saying." Her voice trembled. "Most people would leave."
He considered that for a moment, then shrugged. "Most people aren't me."
Something inside her shifted.
Deep, unseen, four presences leaned forward.
Watch him, one murmured.
He hasn't run, said another.
Yet, a colder voice replied.
Evelyn rubbed her temples. "I think something is wrong with me."
Lucas reached across the table—but stopped just short of touching her. "Do you want help figuring it out?"
She nodded.
"Then I'm not going anywhere," he said.
The words didn't feel like a promise.
They felt like a fact.
Later, as Lucas washed the cups, Evelyn stood by the window, staring at the street below.
Her phone buzzed in her hand.
A message draft.
Don't trust him yet.
Her blood ran cold.
She deleted it—then froze as another line appeared beneath it, typed letter by letter.
We're watching.
Evelyn's reflection stared back at her from the glass. Calm. Too calm.
Behind her, Lucas turned from the sink.
"Evelyn?"
She slid the phone into her pocket, heart hammering.
"Yes?"
"Detective Hale called," Lucas said. "He wants to see you today."
The room tilted.
"When?" she asked.
"An hour ago." He hesitated.
"He also asked if anyone else had access to your apartment."
Her pulse roared in her ears.
"No," she said.
Inside, something smiled.
"Lie well," the Judge whispered.
Outside, the fog rolled back in.
And somewhere across the city, evidence waited to be found.