The phone call comes in the middle of the night, and I'm barely awake when it rings. I know it's coming, though. After the confession from last night, the tension in my body hasn't eased. It's like my skin is too tight, my muscles too tense, and every second feels like I'm one wrong move away from breaking.
I pick up the phone, half expecting it to be another twisted game from the killer, but it's Vera. Her voice is urgent, sharp.
"You need to see this, Miles," she says. "I think we've found something."
I push myself off the couch, rubbing my face to clear the fog from my mind. "What is it?"
"There's a connection between the victims. A place they all have in common."
---
Twenty minutes later, I'm standing in the dimly lit conference room, staring at the board that's been filling up with red circles and lines for the past week. We've been chasing shadows, piecing together clues that don't make sense. But now—now it feels different. There's a weight to this discovery that's sending a shiver down my spine.
Vera's already there, her fingers scrolling through files on her laptop. She looks up as I walk in. "It's a retreat. A secluded place, far from the city. They all went there at 25."
My heart skips a beat. "A retreat?"
"Yeah. It's called Riverstone. A private getaway, somewhere out in the woods. A place for... healing, for finding peace. The killer was there, too, Miles. They were all there at the same time."
I freeze, staring at her, not understanding. "What do you mean? All of them?"
Vera nods, her face pale. "It's not just the victims. It's everyone—the ones who survived. They all spent time there, around the same age. At 25."
I rub my temples, the pieces crashing together in my mind like a tidal wave. Riverstone. I've heard the name before, but I couldn't place it. Now, it hits me hard, like the blunt force of a punch. I remember reading about it years ago, back when I was just starting my career. Riverstone wasn't just a retreat. It was a place for people recovering from something. Something major. Something they couldn't talk about openly.
"Why wasn't this in the file?" I snap, my frustration bubbling up.
Vera shakes her head. "It was buried. Overlooked. There was nothing concrete to tie it to the victims back then, but now… now it all fits."
---
I walk to the board, standing in front of the photos of the victims, their faces still fresh in my mind. And then I see it. The link. The faces of all the victims—each one marked with a red circle—and then I see it: a single location they all shared. They were all there at 25. And the killer? They were part of that group too.
Riverstone.
The killer didn't just pick these people at random. They weren't just anyone—they were them. People the killer knew. People they had a shared history with. And that history? It was darker than I could've ever imagined.
I turn to Vera, my mind racing. "What happened at Riverstone? What went down there that's tying all of them together?"
Vera pulls up the old records, showing me the sparse reports of the retreat. It was supposed to be a place of healing, a sanctuary for troubled people. But what it really was? A breeding ground for something much worse.
The files mention "group therapy" sessions, "confession circles," and "shared experiences," all designed to get people to open up about their trauma. It was supposed to be a space for catharsis, but there's a dark undertone to everything. No one ever talks about what happened there in full. It's buried, erased—until now.
---
The deeper we dig, the more I feel the walls closing in on me. I start to see how the killer's obsession fits. They were there, part of that group, one of them. They shared something with the others. A bond forged in pain. A bond built on a trauma none of them could escape.
But no one ever talked about what happened at Riverstone. No one ever really addressed it. And now, years later, the killer has decided to force everyone to confront it. To make them feel that pain again. To drag the past back to the surface—because they couldn't bury it. They couldn't let it go.
---
I lean against the desk, running my hands through my hair, the weight of everything starting to crush me. "The killer," I whisper, my voice thick. "They're not just killing random people. They're eliminating witnesses. People who might remember. People who might talk."
Vera's face goes pale. "They want to destroy the evidence. Erase the past."
I nod slowly. I can almost feel the killer's presence now. They've been hiding in the shadows all this time, pulling the strings. They're close. Too close.
---
The investigation takes a darker turn. The walls are tightening around me, and I know the killer is getting desperate. They're preparing for their next strike, and it's coming soon. I can feel it. I've seen this before—the calm before the storm. The last move before everything falls apart.
They know we're onto them. They're circling now, waiting for the moment when they can strike, when they can cut down anyone who might remember what happened at Riverstone. Anyone who might have a chance of exposing the truth.
---
"Get me a list of everyone who was at Riverstone with the victims," I say, turning to Vera. "I need to know who's left."
Vera nods, already pulling up the records. "I'll get on it right away."
But I know this is no longer just about solving a crime. This is about stopping a soul who's been torn apart by a past that's impossible to outrun. Someone who's been waiting for their chance to make us all feel the way they do.
And as I stare at the photos of the victims—faces now etched into my memory—I realize something. We're not just chasing a killer. We're chasing someone who's been waiting for this moment for years, someone whose pain is tied to everything we've uncovered so far.
The circle is tightening, and we're running out of time.