The rain had returned, soft at first, then heavier, drumming against the city like a pulse I couldn't ignore.
I sat in my apartment, staring at the dark screen of my phone. Liara's name still echoed in my head, whispered like a shadow: "Marcus Ellory…"
Marcus. A name I didn't want to hear. A name that carried weight, threat, and history. Whoever he was, the city itself seemed to shiver when he moved.
And then the phone buzzed.
At first, I thought it was spam. Another burner trying to make its mark. But the number…
I froze.
It wasn't just any number.
It was old. Eva's old number.
My thumb hovered over the screen, hesitant. The message was short, almost chilling in its simplicity:
HELP — St. Vincent Hospital, East Wing, 3rd Floor
No sender name. No explanation. No signature. Just those two words, sharp and urgent, like a blade pressed to my ribs.
I stared at the message, the city beyond my window blurred behind the rain streaks. My chest tightened.
Eva.
Alive.
Or a trap.
I leaned back in the chair, thinking of Liara. She had said Marcus's name, and now this. Was this her doing? A warning? Or a setup?
The wind rattled the window. I could almost hear her voice whispering through the shadows: "Ryan… watch the shadows. Trust no one."
I rubbed my temples. Every instinct told me this was dangerous. Every lesson from the past screamed at me to stay put.
But I couldn't.
Not this time.
I grabbed my coat, checking my pistol and magazine one last time. The streets were slick, neon reflections twisting under the rain. Every step toward the car felt like stepping into a trap I couldn't yet see, and maybe never would.
I started the engine, the hum of it blending with the patter of rain. My hands gripped the wheel tightly, thoughts spinning:
Eva—alive or dead?
Marcus Ellory—why now?
Liara—watching, helping, or manipulating?
The hospital loomed ahead as I turned onto East Wing Avenue, a skeletal structure standing against the dark, rain-soaked night. Its windows glimmered faintly, like eyes that had been waiting.
I parked a block away, boots hitting the wet pavement. Every shadow seemed to stretch, reaching for me, whispering secrets I didn't want to know.
I stepped toward the entrance. The doors were ajar, swinging slightly with the wind.
The message hadn't lied. The place was empty… mostly.
But I could feel it.
Eyes. Watching. Waiting.
I pulled my coat tighter, fingers brushing the grip of my pistol. Tonight, someone wanted me here. And whether Eva was alive, or whether Marcus had set this up, didn't matter.
I had to see it for myself.
Every step toward the hospital echoed in the empty corridor like a warning. Every reflection in the shattered glass felt like a pair of eyes tracking me.
Some messages demand action.
Some are bait.
Some are a start of a war you didn't ask for.
And this one… this one smelled like both.