The unseen and untold horrors of that fateful night clawed their way back to the surface, dragging with them a truth darker than anyone could have imagined:
The demon Joseph and David believed they had destroyed… had returned.
Revived not by chance, but by an unholy pact sealed in desperation, Adam was no longer just a man—
He was a vessel, unknowingly shackled to something far more ancient and wicked than he could comprehend.
A puppet dangling from the strings of evil, with eyes that no longer truly belonged to him.
As the veil of night gave way to the soft gold of morning, the world outside seemed unchanged.
Bright sunlight spilled across the city skyline, casting long shadows over streets already pulsing with life. The air buzzed with the usual chatter of commuters, the rustle of papers, the scent of fresh coffee and asphalt.
But beneath that ordinary calm, something foul stirred.
Joseph and David walked through the building's main doors, their steps heavy, their faces pale with exhaustion from the chaos that had plagued them over the past few days.
Joseph's jaw was clenched, his shoulders stiff.
David's usual playfulness was dulled, replaced by quiet alertness.
Then—a voice, too loud, too warm, cut through the hallway like a blade cloaked in velvet.
"Good morning, Joseph and David!"
Both men froze.
The greeting was cheerful—far too cheerful.
And there he was.
Adam.
Standing in the corridor with a smile stretched unnaturally wide across his face, his suit crisp, his hair perfectly combed, his eyes… too bright. Too alive.
There was a glint in them—not of joy, but of something far colder.
Something ancient, watching, waiting.
Like a predator playing pretend in a human skin.
Joseph's eyes narrowed. Ever the composed one, he offered a stiff nod.
"Good morning, Adam."
The words were polite, but laced with caution.
He didn't trust what he saw—and rightly so.
David, on the other hand, didn't even try to hide the shock twisting across his face.
He blinked rapidly, then looked back and forth between Joseph and the strange, smiling man who had once been their rival.
Then, with his usual flair for sarcasm, he leaned in closer to Joseph and muttered under his breath,
"What's going on here? Sun rising from the west? Did you two grab drinks and accidentally stumble into a motel last night?"
Joseph didn't even turn his head.
But his glare was deadly.
Sharp enough to slice through glass.
"One more word," he growled, voice low and dangerous, "and I'll personally introduce your face to the floor—your imaginary angel can be in charge of the ceremony."
David raised both hands, backing off with exaggerated caution.
"Alright, alright," he said, the corner of his mouth twitching, "no need for violence so early. I was just teasing."
But beneath the jokes, his eyes never stopped watching Adam.
As they walked past, Joseph's footsteps echoed through the corridor—calm, steady, cold.
Yet behind them, David kept glancing over his shoulder.
Because something about Adam didn't sit right.
There was a wrongness to his movements, too smooth. His smile, too perfect. His energy, too... still.
Like a painting of a person, beautiful but lifeless.
Artificial. Off.
And David, for all his sarcasm, felt it in his gut—
Something had changed.
Something had woken up inside Adam.
And though the morning air was clear and the world carried on like nothing had happened...
Inside Joseph's office, the usual crisp air of professionalism was broken by something unexpected.
Miss Lopez was already there.
Seated calmly in one of the guest chairs, her eyes scanning a document on her lap, she looked composed. Too composed.
Joseph stopped mid-step. His typically cold features softened, and for a fleeting moment, a look of relief passed over his face.
David nearly tripped over his own feet.
"Damn," David muttered under his breath, wide-eyed. "The great Hitler actually looks happy."
"Don't think so loudly, David," Joseph cut in dryly without looking at him. "I can hear your thoughts."
David's brows shot up. "He can hear my thoughts now? Is he using magic or just some dark telepathy?"
Joseph gave him a side glance, smirking faintly. "It's not your thoughts I hear. It's your ridiculous face giving everything away."
David huffed, dramatically offended. "I'll sue my own eyebrows for betrayal."
But before he could dive deeper into his one-man comedy show, Joseph turned fully to Miss Lopez, his voice dropping into something warmer.
"Good morning, Miss Lopez. It's a relief to see you healthy again."
It wasn't just polite—it was personal. Gentle.
David's eyes darted between them.
"Yeah," he piped up with a grin, nudging Joseph's arm. "No one is more relieved than our guy here."
Lopez chuckled softly. Her lips curled into a small smile, eyes crinkling just right—but something about it... lingered.
Too perfect. Too slow. Too… calculated.
"I know how much you guys worry about me," she said lightly. "I do apologize for not informing you both about yesterday in advance."
David tilted his head.
Wait a second...
His grin faded. He studied her closer. Her posture was immaculate. Her smile never touched her eyes. And her voice—it was measured, like each word was being weighed before spoken.
Is it just me… or does Lopez seem a little different today?
Joseph, focused on catching up, continued speaking with her about her recovery, his tone calm, genuinely concerned.
But David wasn't listening anymore.
His arms crossed. His foot tapped.
Something's off.
Way off.
Lopez was always sharp, but she had this lively, impulsive edge. Today?
She was too... still.
Joseph shifted the conversation back to business, his voice sliding into command mode.
"We need to deflect suspicion. The hotel incident is critical. If we can frame it as a simple murder case, the media and authorities will ease off. David, the cliff event is loosely tied to us—nothing to worry about yet."
David nodded slowly, eyes half on Joseph, half still trained on Lopez.
She hadn't spoken again.
No interjection. No suggestion. Just… sitting. Still smiling. Watching.
Like a mannequin with memories.
That's not Lopez.
Or at least… not the Lopez I know.
Joseph turned toward her again. "Miss Lopez, do you have any questions?"
She blinked—once.
Then again.
Like someone trying to remember how to respond.
"No… no, sir," she finally said, voice almost too even. "I think everything is clear."
David's instincts roared.
This isn't tiredness. This isn't post-recovery haze.
This is something else.
Then Joseph spoke again, unaware of David's unease. "We need the CCTV footage from that night. Lopez, you spoke to the hotel manager, correct? Lead us there."
That's when it happened.
Lopez flinched.
Barely, but David saw it. Her shoulders stiffened. Her hands tightened around the file in her lap.
"M-me?" she echoed, caught completely off guard.
The room held its breath.
Joseph simply nodded. "Yes. You were the one who ensured it was preserved, remember?"
A heartbeat passed.
Then another.
"Yes," Lopez said at last, too quickly. "Of course."
Her lips stretched into a smile, but it didn't hide the tremble in her voice.
David's heart pounded.
Something was wrong.
The woman in front of them looked like Lopez. Sounded like Lopez.
But something beneath the surface—in her tone, her eyes, her energy—was all wrong.
"What's going on with her?" David thought, his pulse rising.
Outside the building, Joseph moved cautiously, his usual stern demeanor softened behind a pair of dark sunglasses and a face mask that obscured most of his features. The disguise, meant to avoid unwanted attention, only seemed to invite more. Passersby stared, whispering, and pointed.
A little boy, tugging on his mother's sleeve, whispered loudly enough for them to hear,
"Mom, look at that scary uncle!"
The mother's hand shot up to his mouth, her voice low but firm.
"Hush, don't point! He looks dangerous."
David, walking beside Joseph, shook with laughter, trying hard to keep it under control. His shoulders trembled, and he glanced sideways at Joseph, who was glaring at him through the tinted lenses, his eyes sharp even behind the glass.
"Don't. You. Dare," Joseph's voice was a low growl, the threat clear.
David grinned wider, undeterred.
"Okay, gang leader. No need to get all serious on me." He snickered again, the tension in the air temporarily broken by their banter.
But nearby, Lopez's silence was like a shadow that dulled the brightness around them. She stood a few steps behind, staring blankly at the stairs ahead. Her face was a mask—empty, distant, as if her spirit had momentarily fled.
Joseph caught her gaze and softened.
"Miss Lopez? Are you sure you're, okay? You can take more time off if you need it."
The slight startle in her eyes was almost imperceptible, like a glitch in a calm screen. She forced a smile, barely masking the strain.
"No, sir. I'm fine. Just… thinking about the case."
Joseph didn't look convinced. His voice dipped, carrying a quiet protectiveness.
"Don't push yourself too hard. David and I can handle things if you need more time. Right, David?"
Joseph nodded, though his gaze lingered on Lopez for a moment longer.
David's gut twisted with unease. His eyes locked on her, suspicion rising beneath his usual sarcasm.
"Yeah, you're right. After your leave, something's different. Maybe some rest will bring you back to your old self."
Lopez's eyes flickered like a shadow passing—brief but sharp. She smiled again, forced and fragile.
"Thank you, David, but I'm sure I can manage."
David narrowed his eyes, unconvinced. He masked it with a grin.
"Alright then. Let's get this done."
As they stepped back inside, Joseph took the lead.
"Alright, Miss Lopez, lead us to the security room."
She hesitated; the word caught in her throat.
"Me…?"
David's voice cut through with a subtle edge.
"Yes, you were the one who came back the next day and spoke to the manager, right?"
Lopez's eyes flicked with hesitation—just a flicker, but enough to be noticed.
"Y-yeah, that's right."
The air tightened around them like a coiled spring.
Before David could press further, the building's security manager appeared, rounding the corner with a professional smile.
"Good morning, Miss Lopez. I thought you'd be here after your call, as you mentioned."
Lopez glanced at the nameplate and answered quickly, but the tone was too formal, rehearsed, like words memorized rather than spoken.
"Good morning. I apologize, I was caught up with other work and forgot to call."
The manager waved it off smoothly, unaffected.
"No problem, ma'am. We've already taken care of your request."
He gestured for them to follow.
Inside the cramped security room, the hum of monitors filled the silence.
"As per your instructions," the manager explained, voice steady,
"all recordings from that night have been saved. No one—not even myself—has viewed them. They've been kept secure."
Lopez nodded, but her movements were stiff, robotic almost.
"Thank you, sir. We'll take all the footage for further investigation."
David's eyes narrowed to slits, watching her every twitch, every forced gesture.
Something was wrong.
Her reply felt memorized, practiced, and there was a coldness beneath the surface.
The gnawing suspicion within David twisted tighter. Had she really spoken to the manager? Did she even remember the details herself? The dissonance was unsettling.
As they left the building with the recordings in hand, David's mind raced. The werewolf inside him stirred restlessly, claws scratching at the cage of his reason.
This isn't the Lopez I know.
But how to convince Joseph? How to prove this without sounding paranoid?
The burning question clawed at his mind, hotter than any wound:
What's happening to Lopez?
Who—or what—has taken her place?
And somewhere, hidden in the shadows, eyes watched, silent and cold.
What lengths will David go to, to uncover the truth?
To be Continued...