Amadeo's fingers tightened around Cecil's collar, his knuckles white with pressure. The dim light of the warehouse flickered, casting erratic shadows over Cecil's face. But the man only grinned, unfazed, his eyes glinting with something that wasn't quite amusement—it was something far darker.
"You think I was stabbed?" Cecil mused, tilting his head like a cat toying with its prey. "Maybe you just saw what you were supposed to see."
Amadeo felt a slow, burning anger coil in his chest. His breath was steady, controlled, but his hands twitched with the urge to shake the truth out of the man in front of him.
"What the hell does that mean?" he snarled.
Cecil leaned in, his breath cold against Amadeo's ear. "It means," he whispered, "someone wants you to believe in things that never happened."
Amadeo barely suppressed the urge to punch him. His mind raced back to that night—the chaos, the blood, the way Cecil had collapsed in front of him. The way people screamed. The undeniable sight of a body hitting the floor. But now, standing in front of him, Cecil was alive, breathing, mocking him.
"You were there," Amadeo said slowly, forcing his voice to remain calm. "I saw you get stabbed."
Cecil smirked. "Did you?"
A loud creak echoed through the warehouse as the wind rattled against the old metal structure. Amadeo stepped back, searching Cecil's face for an answer that wasn't laced with deceit. But the man before him only looked entertained. As if none of this truly mattered to him.
Meanwhile—
Elle opened her eyes to the same dimly lit room. The walls, cracked and stained with age, loomed over her like silent spectators. Her wrists ached from the metal cuffs digging into her skin, her throat dry as sandpaper. There was no sound beyond the distant dripping of water from somewhere unseen.
Her eyes drifted across the room, searching, scanning—until she saw it.
Scratched into the peeling wall, in jagged, uneven letters, was a single phrase:
"The girl before you didn't make it."
A shiver ran down her spine. Her breath hitched. She blinked, trying to process what she was seeing. The letters looked raw, desperate—as if someone had carved them with bleeding fingernails.
What girl?
Her pulse pounded against her skull. Was this a warning? A message left by someone who had been here before her?
She swallowed hard and closed her eyes, trying to suppress the overwhelming dread creeping into her chest. She needed to get out. Now.
Back at the warehouse, Amadeo's patience was razor-thin. He grabbed Cecil by the wrist and twisted, forcing him to wince.
"What the hell is happening?"
Cecil's smile widened. "Oh, Amadeo," he sighed, as if speaking to a slow child. "You always act so fast, but you never think. You found me, didn't you? Now, why do you think that was so easy?"
Amadeo's grip tightened. "What do you want?Why are you dragging her into this?Where is she?" he repeated, voice cold.
Cecil chuckled. "Alright, alright. No need to be so hostile. If you must know…" He leaned in, eyes dark. "She's already dead."
The world tilted for a fraction of a second.
Amadeo felt his stomach drop, but he didn't let go. He forced himself to remain still, to not react.
Cecil watched him carefully, waiting for a reaction, his amusement evident.
"You're lying," Amadeo said flatly.
Cecil shrugged. "Am I?"
Something wasn't right. Amadeo knew that Cecil thrived on manipulation, on making people doubt their own reality. And yet—something about the way he said it, the way he smiled—it sent a cold shiver down his spine.
He turned on his heel and walked away, ignoring Cecil's quiet laughter echoing behind him. His hands trembled as he pulled out his phone. He needed to find Elle.
Before it really was too late.