I stared at the photo until my eyes burned.
Tara. Outside her apartment. Her head turned slightly, like she sensed something was wrong but didn't yet know what. The timestamp glared back at me, seconds ago.
My phone buzzed again.
Unknown: You have five minutes.
Five minutes to decide who mattered more.
Five minutes to choose what kind of person I would be after this.
I looked back at the black car across the street. The headlights were still on now, bright and unapologetic. He wasn't hiding anymore. He wanted me to know exactly where the danger was coming from.
My fingers hovered over the screen.
If I stayed quiet, if I stopped digging, Tara would be safe. That was the promise hanging between the lines. No police. No questions. No truth.
Just silence.
But silence was what brought us here.
I started walking.
Not toward my apartment.
Toward Tara's.
My phone vibrated again.
Unknown: Wrong direction.
I didn't stop.
Every step felt heavy, like the ground was trying to pull me back. My thoughts raced, scenarios crashing into each other. What if he was watching from the car? What if someone else was already inside the building?
What if I was already too late?
I reached the entrance and shoved the door open.
"Tara!" I called, taking the stairs two at a time.
No answer.
My chest tightened painfully as I reached her floor. The hallway lights flickered, casting long, distorted shadows across the walls. Her door was slightly ajar.
That alone told me everything.
"Tara," I whispered, pushing it open.
The apartment was empty.
Too empty.
No broken glass. No signs of struggle. Just her phone lying face-down on the counter, screen cracked, like it had been dropped in a hurry.
My hands shook as I picked it up.
A new message lit the screen.
Unknown: Time's up.
Panic slammed into me full force.
I did the one thing he told me not to do.
I called the police.
The line rang once before connecting.
"Yes, hello, I need to report..."
My phone buzzed violently in my other hand.
A video notification.
Unknown sender.
I froze.
Then pressed play.
The video was dark at first. Then the image sharpened.
Tara sat in a chair, hands tied, a single light hanging above her. Her face was pale, eyes glossy with fear.
"Lila," she whispered. "I'm sorry."
A familiar voice spoke from behind the camera.
"She chose curiosity," he said calmly. "Now you choose consequences."
The video ended.
I dropped the phone.
Something inside me shattered, not loudly, not all at once, but completely.
The dispatcher's voice was still talking, asking questions I couldn't answer.
I hung up.
I knew what he wanted.
He didn't want the police.
He wanted me.
My phone buzzed again.
Unknown: You involve anyone else, and she disappears.
Another message followed immediately.
Address sent.
I stared at the location pin glowing on my screen.
This was it.
The moment everything tilted.
I could still walk away. Still pretend I hadn't seen the video. Still let fear make my decisions.
But then I pictured Tara, bleeding hands, shaking voice, standing in front of me like a shield.
I warned you, she'd said.
I grabbed my jacket.
I didn't text back.
I didn't tell anyone where I was going.
I left.
The place he sent me to wasn't abandoned like I expected. It was worse, quiet, lived-in, ordinary. A warehouse converted into office space on the edge of the city. Lights on inside. No guards. No signs.
Like a trap that didn't need bait anymore.
I stepped inside.
The door shut behind me with a heavy click.
He was waiting.
"You came," he said, almost pleased.
"Where is she?" I demanded.
He smiled slowly. "Safe. For now."
I took another step forward. "Let her go."
"That depends," he replied. "On whether you're ready to stop pretending this is about her."
My heart pounded. "Then what is it about?"
He leaned closer, voice dropping.
"It's about what you know," he said. "And what you're willing to do with it."
I swallowed.
"You want me to disappear," I said.
"No," he corrected. "I want you to choose."
"Choose what?"
He placed my journal on the table between us.
Open.
Pages marked.
Underlined.
Annotated.
"You can walk away," he said. "Leave the truth buried. Let Tara go. Live a normal life."
My chest tightened.
"Or?"
"Or," he continued softly, "you finish what you started… and become part of this whether you like it or not."
I looked at the journal.
At my handwriting.
At the questions I'd been asking long before I knew his name.
And in that moment, I understood something terrifying.
Walking away would save Tara.
But staying would expose everything.
I lifted my head.
"I'm not walking away," I said.
His smile widened.
"Then welcome," he replied, "to the part of the story where no one is innocent anymore."
The door locked behind me.
And just like that.....
There was no going back.