I wait for Ryan in the small restaurant near the office, hands wrapped around a warm cup I'm not drinking. The morning light makes everything look washed out, like the world is a faded copy of itself. I watch the door, then the street, then my reflection in the window — tired eyes, skin dull from too many restless nights.
I can't remember the last time I left the house for something other than work.
What happened to my life?
How did everything shrink into corridors and screens and panic?
Before I can sink deeper into the thought, the door opens.
"Hey," Ryan says, breathless like he rushed here.
I nod. "We don't have time."
He sits, looks around, lowers his voice. "Let's go over the plan one more time. Just to make sure."
I exhale slowly. "We go to the office, pretend to work for a few hours, then make an excuse to leave early. Drive to the farm before sunset."
"Good," he says. "Simple."
But nothing about any of this feels simple.
The moment we step inside the office, Elena notices us.
She approaches before I can look away.
"You two didn't come in yesterday," she says sharply. Her eyes land on me and stay there. "Are you aware how swamped we are?"
My stomach tightens. Why is she talking to me?
My stomach tightens.
Why me?
Why always me?
Ryan wasn't here either.
A familiar coldness crawls up my spine — the same freeze that's been chasing me since Jimmy vanished.
Before I can answer, Ryan jumps in.
"We, uh—got hammered last night. After everything that happened, we needed a break. Sorry."
Elena stares at him, expression unreadable.
Then she returns to her desk without a word.
I have no idea what she's thinking.
And that scares me more than anything.
We try to work, but our minds circle one question:
Why didn't Jack tell anyone what happened yesterday?
That silence means something.
Something sharp.
Ryan stands abruptly. "Coffee. Before I lose my mind."
He walks off mumbling half-formed theories under his breath.
I take my own cup and head back toward my desk.
Halfway there, I notice Elena's screen.
A file.
Not ours.
Not from the company.
But familiar.
My eyes lock in.
Departure.
My chest tightens.
There's only one copy — on Jimmy's computer.
On our USB.
On us.
Why does she have it?
My breath stumbles.
The world shrinks around her desk.
I freeze a few steps away, not sure if I should go back or keep walking.
If I stay here too long, she'll look up.
If I confront her, I'll expose everything.
So I move toward my desk, forcing my legs to carry me forward.
passing Elena's row.
"Hi," I manage, lifting a hand.
The moment I lower it, I regret it.
I've never initiated greetings.
Never.
Her eyes pin me in place — cold, sharp, searching
Like she's trying to read the insides of my thoughts.
I sit down, pretending to work, sweat building on my forehead.
My hand trembles when I reach for the mouse.
After a long, unbearable moment, Elena looks back at her screen.
I can finally breathe again
Barely.
Ryan appears, urgent. "Come with me."
He leads me to the break room.
Jack is there.
My heart stutters.
"I'm… sorry," Jack says, wringing his hands. "I didn't mean to jump on you yesterday. I just… panicked."
He won't look me in the eye.
Something about him feels off — too careful, too practiced.
Still, relief flickers through me.
"It's fine," I say. "Really. I'm just glad it's okay now."
Ryan stiffens beside me.
He doesn't believe a word of this.
"So," Jack says lightly, "what did you two find yesterday?"
My mind blanks.
Ryan answers before I can make a mistake.
"Just a sheet of white paper. Totally not worth all that drama."
He forces a laugh.
It makes my skin crawl.
Jack smiles. Too thin.
"Right."
Ryan inhales sharply. "We should get going. Long day ahead."
Jack watches us leave.
It feels like being watched by a door that's half-open.
The road narrowed as we reached the edge of the town. No sign marked its name. The buildings appeared first—low, tired structures pressed close together, as if they had slowly given up on standing apart. Most of the windows were dark. The place didn't feel abandoned, just withdrawn, like it was holding its breath.
Ryan slowed the car and parked near the side of the road.
"We're close enough," he said. "If the farm's nearby, we can walk."
I nodded. And didn't trust the silence. Engines felt too loud here.
We stepped out. The air was colder than i expected, damp and heavy, carrying the faint smell of soil and something metallic i couldn't place. Our footsteps sounded sharper than they should have.
We hadn't walked far when someone appeared.
A man stood near a small shop, half-lit by a flickering bulb above the door. He was older, maybe late forties, wearing a jacket that looked too thin for the weather. He stiffened when he noticed them approaching.
"Sorry," Ryan said, raising a hand slightly. "We're looking for directions."
The man didn't respond right away. His eyes moved from Ryan to John, then back again, as if counting them.
"Town's Hill Farm," Ryan continued. "You know where it is?"
The reaction was immediate.
The man froze. Not dramatically—just enough to be unmistakable. His shoulders tightened. His jaw set. For a moment, he didn't seem to be breathing.
I felt it before the man spoke. That subtle shift when a room—or a person—decides something is wrong.
"The farm?" the man said quietly.
"Yes," Ryan replied. "That's right."
The man took a step back.
"You don't want to go there," he said.
His eyes darted down the street, then back to them. His voice dropped further, almost a whisper.
"Just… don't."
I opened my mouth to ask another question, but the man was already shaking his head.
"I can't help you," he said, faster now. "I shouldn't even be talking to you."
Then he turned and walked away.
Not hurried. Not running. Just decisive—like someone who knew better than to stay.
We stood there for a moment, the flickering bulb buzzing above us.
Ryan exhaled slowly. "Well. That's reassuring."
I didn't answer.
Somewhere ahead—past the clustered buildings, beyond where the town thinned into open land—there was a sudden noise.
Grunts.
A sharp crack — wood against flesh.
Ryan doesn't hesitate.
He heads toward the noise.
I want to keep walking toward the farm.
I want to pretend we didn't hear anything.
But the thought of being alone here is worse.
I follow.
Three men surround someone on the ground in an alley.
One lifts a bat for another swing.
"Hey!" Ryan yells.
He shoves the first attacker hard enough to topple him.
The second swings the bat into Ryan's back.
The sound is sickening — a dull thud that vibrates through me.
Ryan drops to one knee.
The third pins him to the wall.
I want to move.
I want to help.
But my body locks.
Every muscle tightens.
My legs refuse to respond.
The sounds — the grunts, the bat hitting flesh —
they pull something out of my memory like a hook.
A locked room.
A voice shouting.
A body crumpling.
A child frozen in place.
My legs refuse to move.
Every muscle locks.
Ryan chokes out a breath.
"John—!"
Move.
MOVE.
I break out of the freeze like something snapping and lunge — not a punch, not a strike, just a desperate collision of bodies.
I slam into the man with the bat, knocking him sideways.
Ryan shoves the last attacker away, and the three scatter.
The man on the ground sits up, panting, shaking, eyes wild.
"Leave me the fuck alone," he snaps, pulling out a knife.
"Hey," Ryan says softly. "They're gone. You're safe."
The man spits blood, wipes his mouth.
His hands shake.
"I'm Nate," he says after a moment.
He won't meet our eyes.
He laughs at the wrong time — a jittery, misplaced sound.
"You're not from around here, are you?" he asks.
"No," Ryan answers. "We're trying to find a farm."
Nate frowns. "Town's Hill farm?"
My pulse jumps.
"That one," I say. "You know it?"
"Everyone does. Weird guy lives there."
Ryan leans in. "What guy?"
"Tall. Thin. Talks to himself sometimes."
Jimmy.
"When did you last see him?" Ryan asks.
Nate wipes his mouth. "Maybe… three days ago?"
Ryan's eyes widen, his body very still. "John." His voice was low. "That's the same day. The same day we were at his apartment." The air between us changed. The past four days rewrote themselves in that second.
We were at his house while he was somewhere else.
While he was here.
Jimmy didn't disappear into nothing.
He didn't vanish without trace.
He was alive.
He might still be.
The thought didn't come as words. It came as a sensation—a sudden, shallow breath that didn't catch in my throat. The cold in my chest didn't vanish, but it shifted, making space for something else. For the first time in days, the path forward didn't look like a drop into darkness. It looked like a door, cracked open. Hope. A dangerous, fragile thing.