I can feel the pressure building with every passing hour, every moment spent chasing down leads, trying to make sense of the killer's motives. It's not just the victims anymore. It's me. Something about this whole case—it's pulling me in deeper, closer, until I feel like I'm suffocating in it. I've spent my whole career chasing monsters, but this one? This one feels personal.
The pieces are coming together now, clearer than ever. All these dead ends, all these cryptic notes, all the trauma they've shared with the victims. It's like I'm looking into a mirror, a reflection of everything I've buried deep inside me. I lost Damon when I was 25. That's the age. That's the year everything fell apart. And now, here I am, tracking a killer who's obsessed with that exact age.
I take a long breath, staring at the board, my mind running wild. There's something here. I can almost taste it. It's the same age. The same trauma. They're not just victims. They're survivors, just like I was. And I start to feel a sick kind of empathy stir in me. The killer isn't some heartless monster. They're broken—just like I was. They've lived through something that shattered them at 25, and now they can't escape it.
The killer isn't just punishing the innocent. They're punishing themselves, dragging others down with them because they think it's the only way to end the pain.
But that thought, as much as it makes sense in a twisted way, sickens me. It doesn't excuse their actions. I know that. But it's starting to hit home—really hit home—in a way I wasn't prepared for.
---
I pace around my office, running my fingers through my hair. Every lead I chase leads me back here: the retreat, Riverstone. The place where it all began. The place that tied these people together. There's a name that keeps popping up in my head, a name I haven't dared to speak aloud. Someone from the past. Someone who shouldn't be involved, but the more I dig, the more their name keeps resurfacing in the most unexpected of places.
My gut twists.
"Vera," I say, my voice hoarse. "I need you to look into someone for me. Someone who was at Riverstone, someone who... might have been more involved than we thought."
Her eyes snap up from her laptop. "Who?"
I hesitate, but the name has already slipped from my lips. "Adrian. Adrian Clarke. He was at Riverstone, and something doesn't sit right. We need to dig deeper into him."
---
Adrian Clarke. The name has been haunting me for days. He was part of the group, one of the retreat's leaders. But something about him is off. I can't explain it, but my instincts are telling me that he's hiding something. Maybe more than just a past. Maybe he's hiding a life—my life, intertwined with the killer's.
Vera looks at me, her face clouded with suspicion. "You really think it's him?"
I don't know. I can't say for sure. But I feel it deep in my bones. He's been connected to everything so far, but no one ever really questioned him. Not in the way they should have. His face is calm, too calm. Like he's hiding something too dark for anyone to touch.
---
The next morning, we drive out to meet him. The drive feels endless, my nerves rattling, heart pounding. As we pull up to the rundown house on the edge of town, I can't help but feel like I'm walking into a trap. This place... it feels wrong. The air is too still, too heavy.
I knock on the door, my hand tightening around the handle. A few seconds later, it opens, and Adrian stands in front of us. He's exactly as I remember him—clean-cut, professional, polished. But there's something in his eyes now that wasn't there before. A flicker of recognition, of fear, that doesn't belong. Something about him is slipping. Something cracks in his calm exterior.
"Detective Kane," he says, his voice smooth, almost too smooth. "What can I do for you?"
I meet his gaze, not blinking. "We need to talk, Adrian."
He steps back, letting us into the house. I can feel the tension building with every step. It's like I'm walking into a pressure cooker, and the heat's about to break.
We sit down, the three of us, in his living room, and I waste no time. "You were at Riverstone. With the victims. You knew them."
He shrugs, trying to act casual, but I can see the way his eyes dart around. The way his hands twitch. He's nervous.
"I was there," he says slowly. "But I didn't know anyone that well. It was a professional retreat. I was just overseeing things."
I lean in, letting my gaze pierce through him. "I don't buy it, Adrian. You knew more than you're saying. You were close to them. Weren't you?"
He hesitates. For a fraction of a second, his mask slips, and I catch the glimpse of something dark behind his eyes. I've seen that look before. It's the look of someone who's been caught in their own lie, someone whose past is about to catch up with them.
"I... I don't know what you're implying," he stammers. "This is ridiculous."
But I can see it now. It's in his posture, in the way he avoids my gaze. He's not just lying. He's terrified.
And that's when it hits me like a freight train.
Adrian's not just connected to the victims. He's connected to me. There's something in his past, something shared with mine, and it's about to come rushing back in a way I never expected.
Before I can voice the realization, Adrian stands up abruptly. His hands shake as he turns away from us, as if he's trying to run from something. But there's nowhere to go.
"Adrian," I say, my voice quiet but firm. "You need to tell me what happened at Riverstone. Now."
He turns slowly, his face contorting with emotion. "I didn't want this. I didn't want any of this. You don't understand... I never meant for it to go this far."
And then, he says it—the one thing I wasn't ready to hear.
"I didn't want anyone to remember," he whispers, his voice cracking. "I was trying to protect you, Miles. You were supposed to forget, just like everyone else. But now... now it's all falling apart."
My blood runs cold as I finally realize what he's saying. Adrian Clarke wasn't just a part of the retreat. He was the one who kept the secret—the one who buried the truth so deep that no one would ever question it. He wasn't just involved in this. He was the one pulling the strings all along.
And now, we're both trapped in this twisted game together.
The pieces of the puzzle fall into place, but what I see now isn't just the killer. It's a nightmare I can't escape—a nightmare that's been waiting for me, just out of reach, for years.