I woke to the scent of dust and saw a cracked ceiling. For a minute, I was unable to move. This body felt strange as if I had come out from the depths of a black ocean—disoriented, gasping for anything real, something that belonged to me. I blinked at the ceiling, my breath catching as a question placed on my lips: Who am I?
The answer struck before I could ask the question. Memories surged into me, sharp and unrelenting, every detail burned into my mind as if I'd lived them myself—but they weren't mine. Not truly. They belonged to her. Serena Law. Eighteen. Private Detective. A ghost in her own life, unnoticed and unwanted.
Now, she was gone. And I was here.
I took a nervous breath and closed my eyes against the flood of memories. They increased like dark waves, one after the other—hers, then mine. It was a treason I couldn't completely imagine. A face just out of reach. Then came the infinite void that had claimed me. Pain from two lives blended, indistinguishable, until I couldn't tell where her pain ended and mine began.
I opened my eyes, my chest tight. This life wasn't any better than the one I'd left behind. Poor, unwanted, barely scraping by. Why was I here? Why this girl? I pushed the thought away, rolling over on the creaky mattress and staring at the cracked wall instead. The only sound was the faint hum of traffic outside, the occasional drip of water from somewhere in the apartment, and the whisper of my mind: What do I do now?
A knock startled me out of my thoughts. It was soft but insistent, coming from the door across the room. I stayed where I was for a moment, staring at it, before dragging myself to my feet. The tiles were cold against my bare feet as I shuffled over, my body still feeling like a stranger's. I opened the door carefully.
A boy stood there, maybe sixteen, his clothes worn and his face pale. He looked up at me with wide, almost panicked eyes.
"Are you...?" Serena Law? "The detective?" His voice trembled, and his eyes jumped as if expecting the door to crash in his face.
"Yes," I said, but the word seemed weird in my mouth as if it didn't belong.
"Please," he said quietly, gripping the edge of his ripped sleeve. "No one else will listen."
For a moment, I just stood there, staring at him. His desperation reminded me of something—someone. Myself, maybe. I stepped aside before I could think better of it, letting him in. I didn't know what he wanted or why he thought I could help, but I would find out. What else did I have to lose?
The boy sat awkwardly on the edge of the worn chair, clutching the cup of tea I'd placed before him. His hands trembled slightly, though whether from cold or fear, I couldn't tell. He stared into the dark liquid as if it might reveal answers he wasn't ready to voice.
"I'm Valter Diablos," he began after a long pause. "Sixteen."
I nodded, motioning for him to continue. Something about his name tickled the edges of my memory, but it faded as he went on.
"Last month… my family was murdered." His voice was too calm, the kind of calm that results from cramming emotions into a box too small to contain them. His hands squeezed around the cup. "They said it was random. A terrified thief. But it's a lie. I know who it was. Falsemaw."
The name hung in the air between us, heavy and cold. Falsemaw—the devil himself. Not a literal devil, of course, but a killer so vicious, so precise, that he might as well have been born of hellfire. The stories I'd overheard in my memories painted him as a creature of legend, a manifestation of sin itself, driven by greed, envy, and pride. But no one believed he was real. Falsemaw was a boogeyman for detectives to blame their failures on, an excuse for unsolved cases.
"Why do you think it was him?"
"Because my parents were good people. There was no reason for anyone to kill them unless it was someone like him—someone who didn't need a reason. But the police don't believe me. They won't even investigate. They've already marked it as unsolved and moved on."
I looked at him for a second. His desperation was raw and sincere. It shared something within me—a desire for justice, answers, and something to make sense in a world that frequently did not.
"I believe you." The words escaped my lips before I could rethink them.
His shoulders relaxed, and the weight of hope and despair hardly lifted. "You do?"
"Yes," I replied forcefully. "But if we do this, I will need everything. Every detail, big or small. And your assistance."
Valter sat up straighter. "I'll do whatever it takes."
I paused, the weight of my own words falling on me. In both of my life, I had felt powerless, and my efforts were stopped by powerful people. But I was still alive, breathing, and capable of trying. If there was one thing I could promise the world, it was that I would never give up—on him or anybody else.
"All right, then let's get to work."
As Valter recounted the events of his family's final days, my thoughts drifted quickly. This world was so similar to my last—cold, indifferent, and full of pain—but it was also different in ways I didn't fully comprehend. My memories tell me that magic and power are normal here. The supernatural existed here, but it was as weak as the people who lived there. And? I was the lowest of them all, burdened with two lifetimes of memories and mistakes. But I wasn't about to let it stop me.
I would save him, and maybe even myself.
The old rotary phone on my desk rang, interrupting my talk with Valter. I looked at Valter, who had paused in mid-sentence, appearing confused.
"Hold that thought," I murmured, standing and walking to the desk. As I brought the phone up to my ear, the handle felt cold in my hand.
"Serena Law," I said, keeping my tone calm.
"Ah, Serena," a gratingly familiar voice called from the other end. "It's been too long, hasn't it?"
Chief Hapet. His arrogant smirk, dismissive tone, and the way he'd insulted me at every opportunity in this body's previous life all came back to me unexpectedly. Hapet had always been more politician than policeman, more concerned with appearances than justice. He was also lazy and egotistical, assigning work he considered below him to others while taking credit for anything like achievement.
"Yes, Chief," I said calmly. "What do you need?"
"Oh, just a small matter," he responded. "This case is perfectly up your alley. Shouldn't require much thought, which I'm sure you'll like."
I tightened my grip on the phone, causing my knuckles to whiten. Behind his remarks, I could hear a slight sound of laughter, not loud enough to be obvious. He wasn't just calling for a case; he was coming to remind me of my proper position.
"And what, exactly, is this 'small matter?'" I inquired while knowing full well that he would not provide me with any valuable information.
"Ah, I knew you'd ask that," he replied, his tone mockingly relaxed. "Just show up at the corner. The details are too difficult to describe over the phone. Do not keep us waiting, Detective."
The telephone went silent before I could respond. Typical Hapet: arrogant, evasive, and as egoistic as ever. I replaced the device with more force than was required, sighing deeply.
"What was that about?" Valter asked, his voice uncertain.
"A case," I replied, going back to him. "From someone who thinks I'm nothing but a joke."
"Then why go?"
"Because," I answered, grabbing my jacket and pointing for him to follow, "it makes no difference what he thinks. If there is a case, I will accept it. People deserve justice, regardless of who asks.
But as we made our way out, I couldn't help but let my mind wander. Chief Hapet was an ignorant fool, but he was also cunning. If he called me in, it was either because he thought the case was beneath him or because he expected me to fail miserably.
Well, I would show him. This new life in Serena's body may be a copy of the old one, but I was not going to make the same mistakes. Hapet's mockery was nothing compared to what I'd been through in my previous life, or any of the memories of this body.
I looked at Valter as we walked side by side. "Stick close," I advised him. "The Chief might not believe in me, but that doesn't mean we can't use this to our advantage."
He stayed silent, but his eyes told me that he agreed.
We arrived at the destination. The crime scene was a tiny, poorly lighted flat. A man's body was on the floor, with blood gushing beneath him. Chief Hapet stood to the side, arms crossed, his smirk barely concealed when he noticed me approaching.
"Serena," he remarked with fake enthusiasm. "It was good of you to show up. This should be just up to you. Simple, no thought necessary. Just... find out who did it.
I ignored him and marched inside, Valter following closely behind. The air tasted like iron and something barely sweet. I crouched close to the body and took everything in.
"Who is that boy?" he questioned, pointing at Valter
"My assistant" I replied trying to ignore his faint chuckle, marking that he was laughing at me.
A male victim in his mid-thirties. The stab wound in his chest was clean and precise, too calculated for a crime of passion. Blood spatter decorated the walls in a backward arc, implying he was stabbed while standing and slumped under his weight. His hands remained intact. No defensive wounds. He hadn't even lifted his arm to fight back.
"Where's the murder weapon?" I asked, not looking up.
"Not found," one of the officers said dismissively. "Likely taken by the killer."
I nodded, looking around. The apartment was tiny and barely furnished. A bookshelf, several seats, and a kitchen table. The sink was dry, and the dishes were pristine. A single vase of freshly cut roses rested on the windowsill. Odd.
"Who discovered the body?" I inquired.
The officer pointed to the pale and trembling young woman in the corner. Her hands were tightly wrapped. An elderly man and a teenage boy stood beside her. Hapet had previously mentioned that they were neighbors. They had heard a disturbance and called it in.
I walked closer to them, examining each one.
The woman avoided my sight, her posture a bit defensive. The older man moved awkwardly, looking between the woman and the body. The youngster, on the other hand, looked at the victim with wide eyes, his expression a mix of terror and fascination.
I addressed the woman first. "What did you hear?"
"Just—just shouting," she muttered, her voice low. "Then nothing."
Her statements sounded intentional and prepared. She was lying. I did not instantly call her out.
The older man continued, "I heard a crash. I- I came over right quickly, but the door was locked. I had to wait for the police to arrive."
Locked. Yet, there was no trace of forced entry. Interesting.
I turned to face the boy. "And you?"
"I... I didn't hear much," he admitted, his voice shaking. "Just... I noticed him earlier. Through the window. He was alive back then."
His gaze flickered to the woman and then away. He was terrified—not of me, but of her.
"Right." I took a step back. My attention returned to the flowers. The flowers were fresh, with beautifully clipped stems. Too neatly. I walked to the vase and took one out. The edge of one petal had been stained with blood.
"Chief," I called out. "Did anyone check this?"
"Check the flowers?" Hapet mocked. "Don't waste my time."
I ignored him and turned the vase over. There's no water inside. These had not been placed here for decoration; they were a message.
I confronted the group again. The woman was sweating now, and her hands trembled significantly. The boy's eyes moved between her and the flowers, as panic set in.
"It's her," I answered, pointing at the woman. "She killed him."
"What?" Hapet barked. "On what reason?"
I held up the rose. "The blood on the petals corresponds to the victim's. She used the thorn to clean under her nails while hiding it as part of the decor. The vase is bone-dry; she didn't intend to leave it here for long. An error. She planned to take it with her, but panicked when the neighbors started knocking."
The woman's face became white. "That is ridiculous!" "I did not—"
"You did," I interrupted. "You were close to him. A lover, perhaps? Or a rejected one. The stab wound is too accurate to be accidental. You locked the door after you left, intending to keep anyone from finding him. But you did not account for their curiosity."
Her eyes widened, and she took a step back. "I—I didn't mean to—he—he was going to leave me!" she exclaimed, her calm shattered.
The officers moved in to handcuff her as she sobbed. Hapet's smirk had disappeared, replaced by bitter respect. "Two minutes," he mumbled. "Damn."
I turned away, concealing my joy. I've read enough work in crime investigation to solve a basic crime.
The woman's trembling hands betrayed her calm attitude. I got a peek of her wrist. A tattoo peeked out from behind her sleeve, partially covered by the shaking in her palm. It was a modest, abstract design that may have been misinterpreted for a flourish or a symbol of vanity. But it wasn't. Something about it triggered familiarity in my borrowed memories.
I paused. The thorn, the dry vase—it all fit with her guilt. But the tattoo seemed like a missing puzzle piece.
Before I could investigate any further, Hapet's smirk brought me back to reality. He stood by the door, arms crossed, his sense of self-satisfaction sufficiently strong to choke. His grin was not simply for her arrest. It was something more personal.
I raised my eyes at him.
"You did good, Detective," Hapet replied, his voice dripping with false praise. "Maybe there's hope for you yet."
The chuckle went on, even as the woman was carried away in tears. His look did not fit the situation; it was neither relief nor pride in a job well done. It was an expectation.
Something wasn't right. But before I could examine it more, he turned and walked away, his coat swaying like the curtain on a last performance.
Valter and I walked silently for a bit, the cobblestone streets lit by the faint, flickering glimmer of streetlamps. The city had settled into its regular midnight rhythm, with late-night conversations, distant horns, and the quiet pattern of footstep vanishing into silence.
Valter eventually ended his silence. "Do you think she really did it?" His speech was soft and speculative.
"She confessed, that much was genuine. However, guilt does not necessarily signify what we believe it does."
He looked at me "You think someone else was involved?"
"Maybe," I kept my gaze ahead, replaying the scene: the tattoo, the thorn, Hapet's smirk. "Or maybe the truth is more complicated than we know."
"Life usually is," Valter said, his tone tied with frustration. "It's not like anyone cares about the details when they can just pick someone to blame."
I glanced at him, his face half-shadowed by the streetlights. There was a weight to his words, a personal ache he wasn't ready to share. Not yet.
"Details matter Valter. Even when no one sees them, that's the difference between truth and lies."
We walked a bit longer before he spoke again, this time in a softer voice. "Do you ever wonder if it's worth it? I am referring to the pursuit of justice. "When no one else does."
I smiled faintly.
"Every day"
"And?"
"And I keep chasing."
He didn't say anything, but I noticed a brief moment of faith in his expression, buried under misery.
When we reached the apartment, my sense of discomfort grew. The door didn't look right. It wasn't completely closed; its latch was slightly misplaced. Subtle, almost invisible, but incorrect.
I paused in mid-step, holding out an arm to stop Valter. He looked intrigued, his eyes looking to mine.
"What is it?" he muttered.
I was thinking, so I didn't respond immediately. Someone had forced the door, but not with hurry. The damage was planned. Whoever did it expected me to notice—but only if I paid attention.
I leaned forward, examining the frame. The marks were shallow and clean. Whoever did this was not only skilled; they were also sending a message.
"Stay here," I whispered softly, stepping back. "We're not going inside. "Not yet."
Valter looked perplexed, but complied, disappearing to the shadows. I carefully pushed a loose pin from my jacket sleeve into the doorframe, a habit I had from my previous life. Then I took a step back and sighed, intentionally letting my keys jingle as I struggled with them.
Loud. Obvious.
I opened the door with a flourish and swung it open, the sound echoing down the hallway. Then I waited.
Nothing.
"Come on," I shouted loudly, indicating to Valter as if everything was fine. He followed hesitantly, his movements hesitant. As soon as we were inside, I closed and latched the door, moving quickly and carefully.
"Was that...?" he asked.
"A setup," I interrupted, calming him off. My eyes searched the room, and my pulse remained calm. "Stay by the door."
The flat appeared untouched, but this only made the intrusion more suspect. Whoever had been here had not come to rob. They had left something behind.
Then I saw it. A folded piece of paper was tucked into the corner of my desk, almost hidden by a stack of old case files. It was not there this morning.
I carefully picked it up and unfolded it, while Valter stared from the door. The handwriting was sharp and intentional, with every line being accurate.
A test, Detective. You passed the first. But can you trust your eyes? Your instincts?
H.
I strengthened my hold on the note. Hapet. It was his field of play. The smirk, the earlier call—it all made sense. He had organized this, but why? To play with me? Is this a test for me?
"Who's it from?" Valter asked, coming closer.
"No one worth mentioning," I said, crushing the note in my palm. "Let's go."
"Go?" His eyebrows raised. "Where?"
"To get food," I said. We don't have any, " I pointed out the empty kitchen.
The market was almost empty when we arrived, with workers closing away their shops. We managed to find a few necessities, including bread, a piece of cheese, and a few of apples, since we didn't have much money. As we walked back, Valter gave me a concerned look.
"You're not going to discuss it, are you? What is the note?"
"Not yet," I replied. "But I will. When the moment is right." i smiled at him.
He sighed but did not pursue further. As we approached the apartment, I caught sight of the night sky, its stars pale but steady. Despite everything—This life, my other life, Hapet, the case, the fear gnawing at my chest—there was a calm determination in the air.
"Serena?" Valter's voice interrupted my thoughts.
"Yes?"
"You claimed that details matter. Even if no one else sees them."
I nodded.
"Then don't ignore yours," he whispered softly. "Sometimes the hardest truths are the ones about ourselves."
His words stuck in my head as we walked inside. I did not answer, but I knew he was correct.