SEASON 2 : IS THAT THE DOOR?
1010 Words
WELCOME TO SEASON 2
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The city looked different at 3:17 a.m.—not asleep, just pretending to be. Emberly stood on the rooftop of her building, a thin blanket wrapped around her shoulders, watching the lights flicker across the skyline like pulses from a fractured heartbeat. The wind carried the distant sirens of ambulances weaving through traffic, as if the city itself were trying to warn her. But Emberly knew better. Warnings didn’t come with sirens; they came quietly, in the space between breaths.
It had been three months since the fire, three months since she had exposed half the conspiracy, and three months since she lost her trust in almost everyone she knew. Yet the nights still felt the same—too loud, too alive, too close.
She had not slept properly in weeks.
Not because of nightmares—she remembered those too well to fear them.
But because… lately… she had begun remembering things that were not hers.
At first, she thought it was exhaustion. But exhaustion didn’t explain vivid scenes from strangers’ lives. It didn’t explain seeing a woman she had never met standing in a kitchen she had never entered, her back turned, humming softly before she whispered:
“He knows.”
Emberly jolted each time it happened, gripping onto reality like it might slip from her fingers. Hyperthymesia wasn’t supposed to work like this. Remembering her own memories with brutal clarity was normal. Remembering someone else’s?
Impossible.
Except… it wasn’t.
As she leaned over the rooftop railing, her phone buzzed in her pocket. She sighed, expecting another forced check-in from Liam or a frustrated message from Aiden. Their relationship with her had become… complicated. Every conversation felt like stepping into a minefield.
But the name on the screen wasn’t Liam, Aiden, or anyone she knew.
Unknown Number:
“I know what you’re seeing.”
The blanket slipped from her shoulders.
She re-read the message three times.
Her pulse spiked.
Her mouth went dry.
Before she could respond, another message appeared.
“They’re not hallucinations.”
She staggered backward.
No one knew about the memory projections. Not Liam. Not Aiden. Not even her therapist. She’d told no one. She couldn’t trust anyone with something so strange.
Her fingers trembled as she typed the only thing her mind could piece together:
“Who are you?”
The reply came instantly.
“Someone who can help you before they come looking.”
Her breath froze in her chest.
They?
She locked her phone and walked quickly toward the rooftop door, suddenly aware that she was exposed up here—too open, too visible. The building felt colder than usual as she descended the stairwell, the lights flickering overhead in a way that felt intentional rather than accidental.
When she reached her apartment, she closed the door quietly, even though no one else was on her floor. Her senses were heightened—too heightened. Every sound had weight. Every shadow had shape.
She sat on the couch, phone in hand.
Her thumb hovered over the screen, ready to block the number, when—
A knock.
A soft, patient knock.
Her entire body went rigid.
No one visited her at this hour.
Not unless something was wrong.
She approached the door slowly, her bare feet silent against the wooden floor. She pressed her eye to the peephole—
—and exhaled sharply.
Aiden.
But he looked different. Disheveled. Sleepless. His hoodie soaked from a light rain she hadn’t noticed.
She opened the door.
“Aiden? What—”
“Someone broke into the precinct,” he said without even greeting her. His eyes were wild, urgent. “Em, they took files. Your files.”
Her stomach dropped.
“My… what?”
Aiden stepped inside and shut the door behind him. “The case files, the psychological reports, the recordings from the interviews. All of it. And—” He hesitated. “—something else.”
“What?” she whispered.
He met her eyes.
“Your childhood adoption documents.”
A cold wave crashed through her.
“My what?”
Aiden swallowed hard. “They were locked in an evidence vault. Someone targeted them specifically.”
Her chest tightened. Breathing became a conscious effort. “Aiden… I never gave those to the police. How did they even—”
He didn’t answer.
He didn’t have to.
Someone had planned this. Someone had planted those documents. Someone wanted them missing.
Her phone buzzed again.
Aiden’s eyes dropped to the screen.
“Who keeps texting you at this hour?”
Emberly quickly flipped the phone face-down on the counter. “Nobody.”
He studied her, suspicious but hurting too deeply to pry. “Em… you need to trust me.”
Trust.
Such a fragile, dangerous word.
Before she could reply, a memory flashed behind her eyes—uninvited—blinding and sharp:
A small hand holding a silver locket.
A shadowed figure kneeling.
A voice whispering:
“Don’t tell them who you are.”
The flash ended so violently that she stumbled backward. Aiden rushed to catch her, but she raised both hands.
“I’m fine,” she lied.
Her pulse betrayed her.
Aiden didn’t believe her, but he didn’t push.
“I came because,” he said softly, “I think you’re in danger again.”
She didn’t respond.
Because she already knew.
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Across the City… Someone Else Was Watching
In a dim apartment two blocks away, a man leaned back in his chair as he zoomed in on a live camera feed of Emberly’s rooftop.
His eyes were sharp, intelligent, and unsettlingly calm.
A smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth as he replayed the moment Emberly received his first text.
He whispered to himself:
“She’s finally awakening.”
And then he closed the screen, revealing his reflection in the dark window.
This was the new player.
The new danger.
The one who knew far more about Emberly’s past than she did.
His name was Silas Vale—and he had just entered her life.
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- Writer
