In the heart of the night, under a sky shrouded by ominous clouds, a man, whose breaths came in ragged gasps, was ascending a treacherous mountain path. The darkness enveloped him, thick and unyielding, pierced only by the faint glimmer of the moon. He moved with a sense of urgency, driven by an instinctive fear of something sinister lurking just beyond the shadows. His feet stumbled over the rough terrain, his hands grazed against cold, unforgiving stone. The mountain seemed to rise endlessly into the night, a colossal sentinel against his desperate escape.

As he pushed forward, a chilling sensation crept up his spine. He could feel it – an ominous presence, like a predator stalking its prey, getting closer with each passing second. Panic surged through him, fueling his strides. But fate, cruel and unrelenting, led him to the edge of a sheer cliff. The ground beneath him crumbled, and as he teetered on the brink, a pair of ghostly hands emerged from the abyss, reaching for him with a spectral, terrifying inevitability. His heart raced, his scream caught in his throat. And then, he fell, swallowed by the darkness below.

Ethan awoke with a jolt, sprawled on the cold floor of his flat. It had been the same dream again, but he could not see the face of the man this time. Glancing at the clock, he realized with a start that he was going to be late.

In his car, he caught a glimpse of himself in the rearview mirror. The reflection showed a man with striking features – sharp, handsome, but alien. It had been three years since he had woken up with no memory of his past, his identity a blank slate. Yet, every time he looked at himself, he felt like a stranger peering back.

This enigmatic facade had won Ethan the adulation of many, a reluctant icon in a world he barely understood.

He arrived at the press conference just in time, where his assistant swiftly ushered him to the makeup artist.

Ethan sat, his eyes averted from his reflection, as the artist expertly enhanced his already flawless appearance. He shunned the mirror, refusing to confront the haunting visage.

"I've been watching your show 'Insight' lately. That last episode, about the murdered college girl... Can you tell me who the killer was?" the makeup artist inquired, skillfully styling Ethan's hair.

Ethan offered a small, enigmatic smile. "Revealing the plot would spoil the mystery," he replied, his tone laced with a hint of intrigue.

"But the wait for new episodes is excruciating," lamented the makeup artist, skillfully applying styling spray to Ethan's hair. "In the last case on 'Insight,' the demise of Victor was so poignant. His unrequited love for Sarah, and the way she exploited it... When Victor perished, it was heart-wrenching. I haven't shed so many tears in ages."

A year prior, Ethan had been an unlikely choice for the lead in "Insight," a role that seemed tailor-made for his enigmatic persona. Curiosity piqued, he had ventured into the realm of crime dramas, a decision that would unknowingly catapult him to stardom.

Initially perceived as a low-budget, niche detective series, "Insight" defied expectations. Upon its debut, it exploded into the public consciousness, amassing millions of views and sparking widespread discussion. Overnight, Ethan's social media presence ballooned, gaining five million followers.

His meteoric rise drew comparisons to Benedict Cumberbatch's portrayal of Sherlock Holmes, which had similarly sent shockwaves through the digital world. Ethan's earlier appearance on the challenging quiz show 'Mastermind' resurfaced, reinforcing his image as an idol with a blend of intellect, emotional intelligence, and striking looks.

As Ethan finished up in makeup, his assistant, engrossed in videos on the couch, handed him a set of suits provided by the event organizers. Ethan retreated to the dressing room, emerging moments later, impeccably attired. The makeup artist had since departed, leaving Ethan under his assistant's careful eye as she adjusted his attire.

Checking his phone, Ethan noted it was precisely 8 PM. The press conference, set for 8:08 PM, was minutes away. After a final wardrobe check, his assistant offered him a bottle of water. "Take a sip to moisten your throat, but don't overdo it on stage. We'll head backstage shortly, where you'll meet the director and the female lead," she advised.

Ethan sipped the water, listening as his assistant reassured him. "The press questions have been pre-screened, focusing mainly on 'Insight.' I've seen many overnight sensations face their first press conference. It's natural to feel nervous, but just stay composed."

"Do I seem nervous to you?" Ethan queried, his tone edged with a hint of annoyance as he glanced at his assistant.

The assistant, opting for discretion, remained silent, casting a brief pall of awkwardness over the moment. Moments later, Ethan and his assistant made their way out of the dressing room, traversing the corridor to the room designated for the press conference.

Backstage, Rupert Maddow, the director of "Insight," and Cassandra Temple, the female lead, awaited. After exchanging cursory greetings, they stood together, anticipating the host's cue to step onto the stage.

It had been three months of intensive shooting for the series, during which Ethan had lived alongside Rupert and Cassandra. However, six months had passed since filming wrapped up, leaving them out of touch until the show's sudden surge in popularity necessitated their reunion for promotional activities.

The so-called press conference was essentially a structured interaction with the media, intended to divulge intriguing anecdotes from the shoot and share their thoughts on the show's unexpected success.

The organizers had briefed Ethan on the questions to expect, allowing him to mentally prepare while he was in makeup.

However, Ethan was unprepared for the sheer number of attendees. Surveying the hall, bustling with over two hundred individuals eagerly awaiting the event's commencement, his gaze landed on a peculiar figure amidst the throng of entertainment reporters.

A young woman in her twenties, her hair pulled back into a ponytail, blended seamlessly with her peers in appearance and attire. Yet, unlike them, she remained disengaged, her expression marked by a subtle furrow of the brows, betraying a nervousness as if she feared detection and subsequent expulsion by security.

Clearly a journalist, her presence in such a secure environment ruled out the likelihood of her being an outsider. However, her demeanor suggested she wasn't there to cover entertainment news.

Her infiltration into this event hinted at a concealed motive, yet as Ethan inhaled deeply, he assessed her demeanor. She appeared fragile, seemingly harmless and not posing an immediate threat to anyone in the vicinity.

Following a few preliminary remarks, Rupert Maddow, Cassandra Temple, and Ethan Steele were invited to take their places on stage. As they and the host settled in, the assembled entertainment journalists began to stand and pose their rehearsed questions.

As the interrogation from the journalists commenced, Ethan's focus lingered on the enigmatic girl among them. She initially seemed disinterested in the ongoing discourse, her head bowed, oblivious to the inquiries being fielded by her colleagues or the responses from those on stage. It was as though she bided her time, awaiting a precise moment to enact her undisclosed plan.

The press conference, slated for a duration of an hour, was a known fact to all present, including the girl. Roughly twenty minutes into the Q&A, she finally lifted her gaze towards the stage, locking eyes momentarily with Ethan. The connection was fleeting; she quickly averted her eyes, returning to her previous state of apparent disinterest.

"My question is directed at Ethan, the male lead," announced a journalist adjacent to the girl, seizing the microphone. "Your rise to prominence post-'Insight' is remarkable. Overnight, you amassed a legion of fans and they even unearthed footage from your past endeavors revealing your extraordinary intellect. Were you always this intellectually gifted, even as a child?"

Ethan, momentarily diverting his attention from the girl, accepted the microphone. "The portrayal online might be a bit overstated. Some netizens have idealized me following the show. The character I embody in 'Insight' is indeed a paragon of intelligence and emotional depth, but in reality, I'm just a regular guy," he answered.

"But ordinary people don't stumble upon the kind of fortune you've had with just one show," interjected another journalist, standing to voice his question. "How do you perceive this abrupt ascent to fame?"

Ethan, with a modest smile, replied, "I never aspired for a career in showbiz or to be a professional actor. Fame doesn't hold much weight for me. I'd rather the spotlight be on our director and Cassandra Temple, my talented co-star and the true professional among us."

This response seemed to temper the journalists' fervor, and subsequent questions were predominantly directed at the director and Cassandra.

As the conference neared its fortieth minute, drawing close to its conclusion with most journalists having exhausted their queries, the girl who had captivated Ethan's attention resurfaced from her contemplative state. Raising her hand with a newfound determination, she signaled her readiness to finally engage.

As the girl rose to her feet, a staff member quickly handed her a microphone. Her eyes were intently fixed on Ethan, who was seated on the stage. With a tone of assertiveness, she addressed him, "Ethan, do you feel comfortable in your current role?"

Before Ethan could respond, the girl pressed on, her voice gaining volume. "You've been employed by the LAPD as a 'case consultant.' That comes with a profound responsibility for the safety of the city's residents. But tell me, are you aware of the recent spate of horrific murders in the city?"

The room, filled with journalists, was suddenly awash in confusion and surprise at her line of questioning.

Security personnel, stationed around the venue, remained stationary, making no move to intervene. Ethan, recognizing the gravity of her questions, declined the microphone offered by the host. It was clear to him that her inquiries were rhetorical, not seeking answers but making a pointed statement.

"You probably don't, right? While you bask in the glow of fame and adulation, the city has witnessed the brutal loss of two lives, with the perpetrator still at large," she declared with conviction. "Do you believe you're fulfilling your duty to the LAPD? Are you living up to the responsibilities of a 'case consultant'? Can you justify the faith placed in you by mere chance?"

The host, now cognizant of the escalating situation, swiftly exited the stage to summon security. The guards promptly approached the girl, escorting her out of the venue with firm resolve, even as she continued to admonish Ethan, her voice echoing, "You should be ashamed. You should feel remorse."

In the wake of the girl's forceful removal, the host, anticipating further uncomfortable inquiries from the journalists, hastily concluded the press conference. Amidst a chorus of disgruntled murmurs, the director, Cassandra, and Ethan were quickly ushered off stage by security personnel.