Dr. Adrian Vance leaned back in his chair, his gaze fixed on the glowing neural patterns dancing across the monitor. The room was silent, save for the soft hum of the Neuro Regression Interface. But his mind was anything but calm.
Evie Carter's session had been unsettling, not because of the vivid memory she described—he was used to that—but because of the shadow. The figure she claimed had followed her across lives.
He replayed her words: "It's always been there... in every dream, every life."
Adrian shook his head and reached for his notebook, flipping to the page where he'd sketched a rough outline of the hooded figure she'd described. It wasn't the first time he'd heard of such an entity. Over the years, scattered mentions had surfaced in other regression sessions, always vague, always cloaked in fear. But this was the first time someone had described it as actively following them.
He tapped his pen against the desk. Was it merely a figment of imagination, a manifestation of trauma? Or something else entirely?
The next morning, Adrian arrived at the lab early, his mind buzzing with questions. Evie had left some of her sketches behind, and he spread them out on the desk. Each drawing was different, yet the shadowed figure was unmistakable—its featureless face, its looming presence, its watchful stance.
As he examined the sketches, his assistant, Maya Patel, walked in carrying two cups of coffee. "You look like you've been up all night," she said, handing him one.
"Thanks," Adrian muttered, still staring at the drawings.
Maya leaned over his shoulder, her brow furrowing. "Is this from Evie's session?"
He nodded. "She described seeing this figure in a past-life memory. She claims it's followed her into this life too."
Maya frowned. "Do you think it's symbolic? Like unresolved trauma?"
"Maybe," Adrian said, though he didn't sound convinced. "But it's too consistent. I've had other subjects mention similar entities before. Not often, but enough to notice a pattern."
Maya hesitated. "You don't think... it's real, do you?"
Adrian didn't answer immediately. He tapped the desk with his pen, staring at the swirling lines of one of Evie's sketches. "I don't know what I think. But I want to find out."
Later that day, Adrian prepared for his next subject. James Rowe, a middle-aged historian, had volunteered for a regression session to explore what he described as "an inexplicable connection to the Renaissance."
As James settled into the recliner, Adrian explained the process. "Just like before, you'll focus on walking through a long hallway. When you find a door that feels familiar, open it. Let the memories come naturally."
James nodded, and Adrian began the session.
Within minutes, James's breathing slowed, and his voice took on the detached quality Adrian recognized as a deep regression state.
"I'm standing in a library," James murmured. "It's massive. Stone walls, and shelves that stretch up to the ceiling. The air smells... old."
Adrian made a note. "What are you doing in the library?"
"I'm... searching for something," James said. "A book. But I can't find it. Someone's watching me."
Adrian stiffened. "Who's watching you?"
James's expression tightened. "I don't know. A man... no, not a man. He's... cloaked. Standing in the shadows. I can't see his face, but I can feel him. He's cold. He's not supposed to be here."
Adrian's pulse quickened. "What's he doing?"
"Nothing," James said, his voice trembling. "He's just... there. Watching. Always watching."
The hair on the back of Adrian's neck stood on end. He glanced at the monitor, noting a spike in neural activity similar to Evie's.
"James, I want you to focus on the figure," Adrian said carefully. "Does he do anything? Say anything?"
James shook his head. "No. But... it feels like he's waiting. For what, I don't know. I need to leave. I need to get out of here."
Adrian began the countdown to bring James back. When his eyes fluttered open, he was pale, beads of sweat dotting his forehead.
"Did it work?" James asked weakly.
"Yes," Adrian said, his voice steady despite the unease churning inside him. "We'll talk about it later. For now, just rest."
That evening, Adrian sat alone in the lab, reviewing the recordings from both sessions. Two subjects, two vastly different lives, yet the same presence. The Veiled One, as he'd started calling it in his notes, was no longer a coincidence.
Adrian's curiosity burned brighter than his fear. He had spent years studying the mysteries of the human mind, of memory, and the echoes of past lives. But this was different. This wasn't just memory; this was something external, something... more.
And for the first time in his career, Adrian felt like he was being watched.