The cold had penetrated deep into her bones.
Ava sat still beneath the tree, knees up to her chest, as if memory's burden might somehow protect her from the wind. But the air was changing again—soft, unnatural. Not only cold. Attending.
A crunch. Soft. Calculated.
Her breath halted.
She stood up slowly, not having the courage to glance over her shoulder. The shadows on the playground had deepened, reached out unnaturally long under the wavering moonlight. All her instincts screamed at her to flee.
So she did.
Her heart pounding, she ran past the rusty swings, through the broken gate, and into the city streets. She didn't pause until she was on a main road, gasping and shaking.
A bus drove by. She stopped one with a trembling hand, didn't care which it was.
Anywhere but here.
She wasn't even aware she was crying until she saw her reflection in the glass window—wide eyes, shaking lips, tears running down her face like ink.
City lights swirled past.
When the bus did make its way up to her area, Ava climbed down and hoofed it the last two blocks. Her legs hurt. Her head throbbed.
But above all—her heart was louder than anything else.
She needed answers.
And if Rohit was gone…
She needed to know why.
By the time she entered the apartment, the silence was heavy, like something had been waiting while she was gone.
....
The quiet was forced.
Ava huddled on the icy floor of the apartment, knees to her chest, her mind unwinding like strings pulled too tight. The wall clock ticked more loudly than normal, each second cracking like a bone in the empty silence.
Rohit was vanished.
And she had no idea where.
She had told him she needed space—words she now regretted. Words that she hadn't meant for him to interpret the way he had. He had nodded and disappeared into the night, no questions, no arguments, just gone. That was two days ago.
Now the silence was like a chasm.
She looked at her phone again. No messages. No missed calls. No sign of him.
Initially, she considered the possibility that perhaps he just needed air. Time. But Rohit wasn't the type of man to vanish. Not without thinking it through. Not without letting her know where he was headed. Particularly not after everything they'd just experienced.
Her fingers shook as she yanked open the final drawer of his desk. Files. Receipts. A couple of photos. Nothing useful. Her fingers passed over a scuffed leather notebook pushed to the rear.
She hesitated. Drew it out.
The cover was worn and faded, the edges stained. It wasn't locked, but it felt as though it should be.
She opened it gingerly.
Inside, the handwriting was neat, careful. Notes, clipped from newspapers and magazines, names and telephone numbers. And one repeated word, scrawled again and again as if an obsession:
"𝗥𝗮𝘃𝗶𝗻𝗱𝗿𝗮."
Ava blinked. The name created a frisson of recognition in her, but she couldn't think where she'd heard it. She flipped the page. There was a photograph paperclipped inside.
Her breath caught.
𝗛𝗲𝗿 𝘂𝗻𝗰𝗹𝗲. 𝗦𝗶𝘁𝘁𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝘄𝗶𝘁𝗵 𝗮 𝘀𝘁𝗿𝗮𝗻𝗴𝗲𝗿 𝘄𝗵𝗼 𝘄𝗮𝘀𝗻'𝘁 𝗮 𝘀𝘁𝗿𝗮𝗻𝗴𝗲𝗿, 𝗮𝗹𝘁𝗵𝗼𝘂𝗴𝗵 𝘀𝗵𝗲 𝗱𝗶𝗱𝗻'𝘁 𝗸𝗻𝗼𝘄 𝗵𝗶𝗺—𝗵𝗲 𝘄𝗮𝘀 𝗼𝗹𝗱𝗲𝗿, 𝘀𝗵𝗮𝗿𝗽-𝗲𝘆𝗲𝗱, 𝘄𝗲𝗮𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗮 𝗯𝗹𝗮𝗰𝗸 𝘀𝘂𝗶𝘁. 𝗧𝗲𝗻𝘀𝗲. 𝗟𝗶𝗸𝗲 𝘁𝗵𝗲𝘆 𝗱𝗶𝗱𝗻'𝘁 𝗸𝗻𝗼𝘄 𝘁𝗵𝗲𝘆'𝗱 𝗯𝗲𝗲𝗻 𝗽𝗵𝗼𝘁𝗼𝗴𝗿𝗮𝗽𝗵𝗲𝗱.
She went to the next page. Dates, times, places. Circled.
And next to one of them: "𝙏𝙝𝙚𝙮 𝙬𝙚𝙧𝙚 𝙗𝙚𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙛𝙤𝙡𝙡𝙤𝙬𝙚𝙙."
The hair on her arms prickled up.
She closed the notebook hard and stood, striding back and forth. The shadows in the room looked longer now, darker, as if they watched her. She moved to the window and peeked through the curtains. Nobody.
But the sensation of being observed did not leave.
She turned to take her coat. If Rohit wasn't going to return, she was going out to find him. Whatever he'd gotten himself involved in, she wasn't going to sit around and let it engulf her as well.
But before she could even take a step towards the door—
Knock.
Not the bell. Just one slow, calculated knock.
Her breath caught.
She stood still.
Another knock.
She inched towards the peephole hesitantly, her heart pounding inside her ears.
But it was obstructed.
Blocked.
Someone was on the other side, and they didn't want to be noticed.
She moved back, reaching slowly behind her for the umbrella stand—grasping the heaviest one she could find.
Another knock, this one louder.
"𝗔𝘃𝗮."A voice.
Muffled. Low. Familiar, but not enough to trust.
She didn't move. Didn't answer.
The knock again. Then silence.
Then—
Footsteps. Walking away.
She waited five entire minutes, holding her breath, before slowly creeping forward and unlocking the door. When she opened it, there was no one there.
Just a 𝘄𝗵𝗶𝘁𝗲 𝗲𝗻𝘃𝗲𝗹𝗼𝗽𝗲 on the floor.
No markings. No name.
She grabbed it up and locked the door quickly behind her.
Back in the kitchen, she opened it with shaking fingers.
One photograph.
Black and white. Grainy. But unmistakable.
Rohit. Standing in what appeared to be a warehouse. His hands bound. Eyes puffy. A man standing behind him, blurred out—but with something hard glinting in his hand.
Ava's breath caught.
On the reverse of the photograph, a message:
"𝗬𝗼𝘂 𝘄𝗮𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗱 𝘀𝗽𝗮𝗰𝗲. 𝗛𝗲 𝘁𝗼𝗼𝗸 𝗶𝘁 𝗳𝗼𝗿 𝘆𝗼𝘂. 𝗬𝗼𝘂 𝘄𝗮𝗻𝘁 𝗮𝗻𝘀𝘄𝗲𝗿𝘀? 𝗖𝗼𝗺𝗲 𝗳𝗶𝗻𝗱 𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗺."
𝗨𝗻𝗱𝗲𝗿𝗻𝗲𝗮𝘁𝗵 𝘁𝗵𝗮𝘁: 𝗔𝗻 𝗮𝗱𝗱𝗿𝗲𝘀𝘀.
She stood there, still, the photograph trembling in her hand.
Then, with a serenity that did not reflect the turmoil within her, she grabbed her keys.
.....
The keys jingled softly in her shaking hands as Ava locked the apartment behind her. The hallway seemed longer tonight—elongated and too still, like something was keeping its breath bated.
She didn't wait for the elevator.
Every second counted.
She ran up the stairs two at a time, her breathing echoing in her ears. Outside, the city was slicked with rain, the streets wet in glistening black. Ava's sneakers echoed on the pavement as she pounded down the sidewalk, the wadded note holding the address jammed in her pocket.
One word it had breathed still remained in her memory.
Remember.
Remember what?
The address took her across town, past shuttered stores and flashing neon signs. She didn't recognize the street. The buildings were older here, windows boarded up, streetlights shattered. The type of place people steered clear of at night.
Her phone vibrated again. Unknown caller.
No going back now.
Ava jammed it back into her jacket and walked across the street, stopping before a thin alley filled with weeds that had grown out of control. A rusty iron gate hung half open, creaking softly in the breeze. Behind it, a tall Victorian house towered—its black windows like vacant eyes.
This was it.
She pushed the gate open. It screamed on its hinges.
The garden was overgrown, vines snaking up the cracked brick, dead leaves crunching underfoot. As she reached the porch, something moved behind one of the curtains—but when she looked again, it was not.
Ava stood at the door.
This is crazy, she said to herself. I should go back.
But something deep within her—some stubborn, frightened thread—urged her on. She lifted a hand and knocked.
Nothing.
She knocked again, more forcefully this time.
A soft click sounded from the other side. The door creaked open.
There was no one there.
Heart racing, she entered.
...
The air was stagnant, as if time had curled in upon itself. Dust covered everything—furniture shrouded in white sheets, picture frames facing the wall. The sole bulb in the hallway flickered, casting long shadows on the wood floor.
"Hello?" Ava shouted, voice echoing.
No response.
She looked over toward the door—but it had closed quietly behind her.
Ava moved deeper in, her steps dampened by a threadbare rug. The quiet here wasn't merely quiet—it was heavy, as if the house itself was paying attention.
And then—
A groan from above.
She stood still.
Another step. Slow. Intentional.
She moved toward the stairs, her lungs frozen. "Is someone here?"
Silence.
She didn't have to go upstairs. Every nerve was shouting at her not to.
But she did.
Each step creaked beneath her weight. She arrived at the landing and faced a hallway full of closed doors. The third one to her right was ajar.
Light escaped from within.
Ava moved cautiously forward, hand shaking as she eased the door ajar.
In it was a study. Bookshelves against the walls, yellowed files piled on a giant desk. In the middle of it all stood a typewriter, dusty but in one piece. And nailed to the ceiling above it was a photo board.
Her breathing caught.
Scores of photographs. Newspaper articles. Strings tying them all together like a map to insanity.
There—her uncle.
There—her mother.
There—herself.
She moved a little closer, eyes reading over the notes. Some were highlighted in red. Others were drawn through completely.
One specific line raised an eyebrow:
"What Ava doesn't remember will destroy her."
Her blood froze.
She reached out to stroke the photo of her uncle when—
BANG.
A door slammed downstairs.
She leapt, pounding heart, and picked up a metal letter opener from the desk. Footsteps creaked again—this time quicker, climbing the stairs.
Whomever it was, they weren't sneaking.
Ava melted into the shadows, holding herself against the tall bookshelf. The footsteps hit the landing. Then stopped.
She caught her breath.
The door creaked open.
A tall figure stood in the doorway. Face obscured by a hoodie. Gloved hands.
He moved inside.
Her hand closed harder around the letter opener.
He moved past her, checking the photo board. Quiet. Composed.
As if he'd been here before.
As if he belonged here.
Ava took a step forward, ready to demand answers—
But beneath her the floor creaked.
The man whirled.
Their eyes locked.
A beat.
Then he charged.
Ava dodged, barely missing the blow, and sprinted for the door. He clamped her shoulder—she plunged the letter opener into his arm and he gasped, stumbling back.
She sprinted.
Down the hall. Down the stairs.
He chased after her, quickly and heavily, overturning furniture as he came.
Ava burst through the front door.
But outside—
The world no longer dark.
It blinding.
A pair of headlights.
A van.
It skidded to a stop, tires screeching.
The sliding door on the side—
And someone bellowing out her name.
"Ava! Get in!"
Rohit?
She couldn't distinguish clearly.
The house man practically on top of her now.
Ava sprinted into the van and the door slammed closed behind her. The van thundered to a start and careened away, the stranger dissolving into night.
She spun around, heart pounding, to gaze at the driver.
But it wasn't Rohit.
It was her mom.
"Mom?"
Priya did not talk. Her skin was white. Set. Intent.
Ava blinked, baffled. "How did you—how did you find me?"
Her mom's knuckles were strained white on the wheel.
"Because I sent the message myself."
Ava looked at her. "You—what?"
Priya shot a look into the rearview mirror. "I wished you wouldn't show up. But now there is no way out."
Ava swallowed. "Too late for what?"
Priya didn't respond.
Instead, she said something Ava couldn't unhear.
"They know you remember now."
.............
𝑬𝑵𝑱𝑶𝒀𝑰𝑵𝑮 𝑻𝑯𝑬 𝑺𝑻𝑶𝑹𝒀? 𝑲𝑰𝑵𝑫𝑳𝒀 𝑫𝑶 𝑺𝑶𝑴𝑬 𝑹𝑨𝑻𝑰𝑵𝑮. 𝑰𝑻 𝑯𝑬𝑳𝑷𝑺 𝑻𝑯𝑬 𝑺𝑻𝑶𝑹𝒀 𝑻𝑶 𝑮𝑹𝑶𝑾...!
𝘼𝙣𝙙 𝙙𝙤 𝙘𝙤𝙢𝙢𝙚𝙣𝙩𝙨 𝙨𝙤 𝙩𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝙄 𝙘𝙖𝙣 𝙠𝙣𝙤𝙬 𝙮𝙤𝙪𝙧 𝙩𝙝𝙤𝙪𝙜𝙝𝙩𝙨.