The air in the morgue always feels too cold, too sterile. No matter how many times I stand here, in front of the lifeless bodies, I can never quite get used to it. Lila's face—pale, drained of everything that once made her who she was—stares back at me from the metal table. It's wrong, all of it. She should be alive, sitting across from me in my office, talking about her nightmares. But instead, I'm here, forced to dissect her death in a way I was never prepared for. Detective Gray stands beside me, his arms crossed, watching me intently as the coroner lifts the sheet. Lila's body is marked with more than just physical wounds—there are signs of something deeper, something psychological, and that's what I've been brought in to understand.

"Ritualistic," Gray says quietly, as if the word alone might unlock all the answers we need. "What do you think?"

I stare down at the markings on her body—small, deliberate cuts along her arms and chest, arranged in strange patterns. It's almost artistic, but there's nothing beautiful about it. This isn't about the act of killing. It's about control. Power. Fear.

I clear my throat, forcing myself into the role I've played a hundred times before. "This wasn't random," I begin, my voice steady, analytical. "The assailant was methodical. The cuts are precise, carefully placed. This isn't the work of someone who simply snapped. They knew exactly what they were doing."

Gray nods, urging me to continue.

"The first thing that stands out is the symmetry," I say, pointing to the pattern of cuts on Lila's arms. "The killer was focused on maintaining balance—left and right, matching wounds on either side. This suggests a deep need for order, a desire to impose structure on something chaotic."

"And the symbol?" Gray gestures toward the circular marking carved into her abdomen.

I exhale slowly. "That's significant. Symbols like this often have personal meaning to the killer. It's not just about leaving a mark on the victim; it's about leaving a mark on the world, showing that they control life and death. This particular symbol—the circle with jagged lines cutting through it—could represent division or fragmentation, which makes sense given what we know about Lila's mental state. It's possible the killer was mirroring her own fractured psyche, creating a physical manifestation of what she felt internally."

Gray raises an eyebrow. "You're saying the killer knew her?"

I pause. "It's possible. The level of intimacy here—the precise way she was cut, the focus on symmetry, the fact that no defensive wounds suggest she didn't struggle—it points to someone who may have had a psychological understanding of her. Someone who knew what she feared."
I glance back at Lila's face, her expression frozen in death. "This wasn't just about killing her. This was about sending a message. The killer wanted her to feel fear, but not just any fear. The kind of fear that comes from knowing you're being watched. Hunted."

Gray runs a hand over his jaw, processing my words. "So, what are we looking at here? Some kind of sadist?"

"Not exactly," I say, shaking my head. "Sadists kill for pleasure, for the thrill of watching someone suffer. That's not what's happening here. This killer is more calculated. They're using the act of murder as a form of expression, almost like a performance. The ritualistic nature of the wounds suggests that this is someone who feels powerless in their own life, but in these moments, they regain control by taking control of someone else."

I pause, collecting my thoughts. "This kind of killer likely has a background in trauma, possibly severe emotional or physical abuse. They've learned to compartmentalize their emotions, much like Lila did. In fact, they may have been drawn to her because of that similarity—two fractured psyches, one mirroring the other. But where Lila was trying to heal, the killer is doing the opposite. They're externalizing their trauma, inflicting it on others."

Gray's eyes narrow. "Are we dealing with a psychopath?"

I hesitate. "Not necessarily. Psychopathy implies a complete lack of empathy, a cold detachment from human emotions. This feels more personal. The killer is creating a narrative with each victim, trying to work through something deeply buried. It's likely that they can function in day-to-day life, but when they kill, it's like they're stepping into a different reality. A reality where they hold all the power."

"And this ritual—why now?"

"Something triggered it," I say, glancing at Lila's file again. "Lila's therapy was bringing her closer to some kind of repressed memory. The killer may have felt threatened by that, like she was on the verge of uncovering something that needed to stay buried."

Gray rubs the back of his neck, his frustration palpable. "So, this could get worse?"

"Yes," I admit, my stomach tightening. "This is someone who's unraveling. The more they kill, the more they're going to feel the need to escalate. The ritual will become more elaborate, the violence more extreme. They're trying to resolve something within themselves, but they're using their victims to do it."

I look back at Lila, her broken body a testament to the killer's inner torment. "This isn't over, Gray. Whoever did this—they're not finished yet."

I returned home, I had no plans of sleeping. I couldn't. The night was quiet, the city below a sea of twinkling lights obscured by the darkness. I was hunched over my desk at home, papers and case notes scattered around me, trying to piece together the fragments of Lila's case. My mind was racing through the details, searching for connections that might explain the sinister threads tying her death to the other elements of the investigation.

The ringing of my phone broke the silence, its shrill tone jarring against the calm. I glanced at the screen—Detective Gray. My heart skipped a beat. Gray rarely called at this hour unless something urgent had come up.

"Olivia," Gray's voice crackled through the receiver, tense and urgent. "I need you to come in immediately."

"What's going on?" I asked, sitting up straighter, the fatigue of the late hour giving way to sharp concern.

"We've found Jason," Gray said, his voice laced with both relief and apprehension. "Lila's partner. You need to see this."

The mention of Jason's name sent a jolt through me. Jason Turner, Lila's partner, had been a person of interest in our investigation, but his whereabouts had been unknown. I grabbed my coat and keys, my mind racing as I tried to piece together why Jason's discovery would necessitate my immediate presence.

"I'm on my way," I said, trying to keep my voice steady despite the growing anxiety.
The drive to the precinct was a blur, my thoughts consumed by the implications of Jason's reappearance. What had happened to him? Why was Gray so insistent on my presence? The questions swirled around my mind as I navigated the darkened streets, the city's lights casting fleeting shadows on the road ahead. When I arrived at the precinct, the mood was tense. Gray met me at the entrance, his usual calm demeanor replaced by an anxious urgency.

"Over here," he said, leading me down a narrow
corridor to an interview room.

Lila's partner, Jason Turner, was already seated when we entered the interrogation room. His leg bounced nervously, his eyes darting to every corner of the room as if something lurked just outside his line of sight. He looked thinner than I expected, his face hollow, dark circles clinging under his eyes like he hadn't slept in days.
Gray nodded to me as we took our seats across from him. Jason barely acknowledged us, his fingers twitching on the table.

"Jason," Gray started softly, trying to ease him into the conversation. "We're just here to talk, okay? I know this has been hard—losing Lila—but we need your help."

Jason's eyes flicked toward me, then quickly back to the table. "You don't know," he muttered. "You don't know what's happening."

I leaned forward, keeping my voice calm. "Why don't you help us understand, Jason? We're trying to figure out what happened to Lila. We know how much she meant to you."

He laughed, but there was no humor in it, just a bitter, hollow sound. "She knew this was coming. She kept saying it. Over and over. And I didn't believe her. I didn't believe her until..." His voice trailed off, and he rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands, like he was trying to erase something he couldn't unsee.

"Until what?" I asked gently.

Jason's hands dropped back to the table, trembling. "Until it started happening to me. The dreams." He paused, his voice dropping to a whisper. "They're in my head now."

I exchanged a quick glance with Gray. The tension in the room thickened.

"Tell us about the dreams," I urged, keeping my tone steady.

Jason let out a shaky breath, his gaze distant, unfocused. "It's always the same. I'm walking through the woods. It's dark, but I can hear him behind me. I can feel him, watching, waiting." His voice cracked, and he squeezed his eyes shut. "I try to run, but I can't. I'm stuck, like the ground is swallowing me. And I know... I know if he catches me, it's over."

Gray cleared his throat. "Who's chasing you, Jason? Did Lila say the same thing about someone following her?"

Jason nodded slowly, his eyes still closed. "Yeah. Yeah, she said it was a man. But I never saw him. I only feel him, like... like he's right there, breathing down my neck. And when I wake up..." He stopped, his eyes snapping open. "When I  wake up, I swear to God I can still feel him."

A chill crawled down my spine. This mirrored everything Lila had described in her sessions. The figure in the woods, the sensation of being hunted. But hearing it from Jason, seeing the terror etched into his face, made it feel disturbingly real.

"How long have you been having these dreams?" I asked, trying to keep my professional mask intact.
Jason shook his head, running a hand through his disheveled hair. "About a week before Lila... before she died. It's been getting worse. I can't sleep. I don't eat. I see him, even when I'm awake sometimes. I'm losing it. I feel like I'm losing my mind."

Gray shifted in his seat. "Did Lila mention anyone in real life who made her feel like this? Someone who might've hurt her?"
Jason's expression darkened. "She said... she said it wasn't just a dream. She thought someone was after her, for real. But she wouldn't tell me who. She just kept saying that it was connected to her past, something she couldn't remember."

My heart sank. This was exactly what Lila had told me in therapy, but now it felt like a web we couldn't untangle. Jason's deteriorating mental state only deepened the mystery.

I leaned forward, lowering my voice. "Jason, listen to me. These dreams, these feelings—they're real to you, and I understand that. But right now, you need help. What you're describing could be a sign that your mind is under a lot of stress."

His eyes widened, and he started shaking his head frantically. "No, no, you don't get it. It's not stress. This thing—whatever it is—it's not just in my head. It's real. It's coming for me, just like it came for Lila."

Gray sat up straighter, his voice firmer. "Jason, we want to help you, but we need you to stay grounded in reality. The more we know, the better we can protect you and figure out who's responsible for what happened to Lila."

Jason's breathing quickened, his whole body tense, rigid. "You don't understand. None of you do. It's too late. He's already here. I'm next."
His panic escalated so quickly, I could see the fear flooding his mind, overwhelming him. He shot up from his chair, pacing around the small room, muttering to himself.

Gray stood up, holding his hands out, trying to calm him. "Jason, sit down. We're not done yet."
But Jason wasn't listening. His hands flew to his head, gripping his hair, his voice rising. "He's here! He's here right now! Don't you hear him? I can't... I can't..."

I stepped forward, trying to reach him. "Jason, listen to me. You're not in any danger here. We need to take care of you, get you to a place where you'll be safe."

But his eyes were wild now, frantic. "No place is safe! No place! He's everywhere!"

Gray shot me a look, and I nodded, already reaching for my phone. There was no question now. Jason was in a full-blown psychotic break.
As I dialed for emergency psychiatric services, Jason collapsed to the floor, curling into himself, sobbing uncontrollably. His body shook with the force of it, and I could feel the weight of his fear pressing down on me.

Within minutes, paramedics arrived, along with a psychiatric team. Jason didn't resist as they guided him onto the stretcher, his eyes glassy and distant, as if he was somewhere else entirely.

I watched in silence as they wheeled him out, my chest tight. Gray stood beside me, his face hard, unreadable.
"This is bigger than we thought," he muttered.

I nodded, but the unease gnawing at me was impossible to ignore. Jason's breakdown felt too similar to Lila's spiral into fear and paranoia. Both of them had spoken of the same figure, the same nightmares.

But this was more than just shared trauma. There was something darker at play—something none of us could see yet.

"I'm going to have to evaluate him at the psych ward, and I'll get the results to you as soon as possible," I said quietly. "We need to know what he's really seeing."

Gray's eyes met mine, and for the first time, I saw the uncertainty there. "You think it's the same person—whoever was after Lila?"

"I don't know," I admitted. "But whatever it is, it's not done yet.

*****

The air in the psychiatric ward always felt thick with a peculiar blend of antiseptic and desperation. I walked down the corridor, the rhythmic click of my heels on the linoleum floor echoing off the sterile walls. Each door I passed was a reminder of the vulnerability behind them, the fragility of the human mind on display.
Jason had been admitted for evaluation earlier in the day, and now it was time to sift through the findings. I entered the small, dimly lit room where the evaluation results awaited me, resting atop a cluttered desk.

I took a deep breath and picked up the folder labeled with Jason's name. As I opened it, the scent of paper and ink mixed with the tension in my chest.

The first few pages contained basic details about Jason's history and symptoms—standard information, but it was the psychological evaluation report that would reveal more. I scanned through it quickly, trying to absorb the critical points:

Patient Name: Jason Turner
Date of Evaluation: September 20, 2024
Evaluating Psychologist: Dr. Eleanor Greenfield

Presenting Complaints:
- Persistent auditory and visual hallucinations
- Severe anxiety and paranoia
- Impaired reality testing

Background History:
- History of trauma-related stress
- Recent loss of partner under violent circumstances
- Previous episodes of anxiety and depression

Findings:

Clinical Observations:
- Paranoia: Jason exhibits signs of extreme paranoia, convinced that he is being followed or watched. He describes feeling constantly under threat, which exacerbates his fear and contributes to his disorganized thought processes.
- Hallucinations: Both auditory and visual hallucinations have been noted. Jason reported hearing voices that are not present and seeing shadows or figures that others cannot.
- Delusions: His delusions are centered around a belief that he is being pursued by an unidentified entity, which he attributes to an external force rather than a product of his mind.
- Cognitive Functioning: There is significant cognitive impairment, particularly in areas of executive functioning and memory. His thought processes are fragmented, and his responses are often disjointed.

Diagnosis:
- Acute Psychotic Disorder with symptoms of paranoia and hallucinations
- Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD) exacerbated by recent traumatic events
- Possible Schizophrenia with symptoms of delusions and disorganized behavior/thinking

Recommendations:
- Immediate psychiatric intervention with medication to manage symptoms
- Intensive psychotherapy focusing on trauma processing and reality orientation
- Monitoring for potential escalation of symptoms

I set the folder down, feeling the weight of the findings settle in my gut. Jason's condition was severe, his mental state a fragile shell of what it had once been. His symptoms aligned eerily with what Lila had experienced before her death. The patterns were undeniable, and the implications were disturbing.

I closed my eyes for a moment, trying to steady my thoughts. Jason's breakdown and Lila's death were connected, but how? The evaluation gave us crucial insight into his mind, but it also raised more questions.

I reviewed the report again, focusing on the
recommendations. The need for intensive therapy and medication was clear. But what if Jason was right about the danger he faced? What if the entity he believed was pursuing him was real, or at least connected to the same force that killed Lila?

A knock on the door startled me. I looked up to see Dr. Greenfield standing in the doorway, her face a mask of professional concern.

"Dr. Bennett," she greeted me. "I see you've reviewed Jason's evaluation."

"Yes," I replied, nodding. "The findings are concerning."

She stepped into the room and took a seat across from me. "Jason's symptoms are severe. His paranoia and hallucinations are indicators of a deeply disturbed mental state. It's imperative we manage his condition with medication and therapy."

"Do you think there's a chance his perceptions might be tied to something real?" I asked, my voice tinged with unease. "The way he describes being chased, the hallucinations—it's almost identical to what Lila experienced."

Dr. Greenfield's eyes narrowed thoughtfully. "It's possible that his trauma and recent loss have exacerbated his mental illness to the point where he's projecting his fears into reality. However, given the violent nature of Lila's death, it's also possible that there's an external factor we haven't identified yet."

"Do you think he could be a danger to himself or others?" I inquired, a sinking feeling in my stomach.

Dr. Greenfield nodded. "He's certainly at risk of harming himself due to his heightened paranoia and delusional beliefs. We need to keep a close watch on him, ensure he's in a safe environment, and continue to assess his condition."

As Dr. Greenfield left, I sat alone in the room, the folder's contents swirling in my mind. The connection between Jason's hallucinations and
Lila's death was becoming harder to ignore, and the need to uncover the truth was growing more urgent with each passing day.

I closed the folder and made my way out of the psychiatric ward, my thoughts consumed by the shadows of the case and the growing sense that we were only scratching the surface of something much darker. As I walked through the corridor, the tension in the air seemed to press down on me. Each creak of the floor and distant murmur of voices heightened my sense of unease. The ward's