The night was thick with tension. After everything—Liana’s disappearance, the press conference ambush, the black lilies, and the red dress—my world felt like it was constantly tilting. But nothing prepared me for what came next.
It started with a knock.
Not at the front door. Not even the back. It came from the side panel of the fire exit that hadn’t been used in years.
George was asleep, finally getting some rest after weeks of high-alert anxiety. I grabbed a small flashlight and crept toward the source.
The knock came again. Rhythmic. Three soft taps, then silence. Then three again.
I paused. That rhythm...
It felt oddly familiar.
With trembling hands, I opened the door.
A woman stood in the shadow, wearing a grey hoodie, her face obscured. But when she stepped forward, I nearly
