Chapter 3: Marked Territory

2 0 0
                                    


Clara's apartment was tucked into an old building on the edge of town, the kind with peeling paint, narrow hallways, and no security worth mentioning. Damon walked beside me in silence as we approached her door, the thick carpet swallowing the sound of our steps.

I unlocked the door, pausing for a second before pushing it open. Inside, the stale smell of old coffee and something metallic lingered. The apartment was dim, the curtains drawn, casting the place in eerie half-shadows.

"Cozy," Damon muttered, his tone dripping with irony.

Ignoring him, I stepped inside, taking in the room. The couch was overturned, cushions ripped, the signs of a brutal struggle evident in every corner. Clara hadn't gone down without a fight. I respected her for that.

"You were close to her?" Damon asked, catching me off guard.

I shook my head. "We weren't friends, but she trusted me once. It was my job to protect her, and I failed."

"Maybe," he said, shrugging. "But it sounds like someone wanted her dead regardless of what you did or didn't do."

He was right, but it didn't make it any easier. I walked over to the wall where the killer had left his message—I remember you, Olivia. The words were large and deliberate, written in what looked like a mix of red paint and something darker. The familiarity of the handwriting sent a chill down my spine, a whisper from a memory I couldn't quite place.

Damon stepped up beside me, his eyes scanning the message. "If he's after you, why leave such an obvious trail?"

"Maybe he thinks I'll figure it out," I replied, my voice barely above a whisper. "Or maybe he's counting on it."

Damon's gaze lingered on me a moment too long before he shifted his attention to the rest of the room. "Killer's too smart to leave obvious clues, but everyone makes mistakes," he said, glancing around. "We just have to find one."

As we combed through the apartment, I caught a glimpse of something glinting beneath the overturned couch. I knelt down, pushing aside the cushion to reveal a small, silver locket, broken open, with Clara's initials engraved on the back.

"Look at this." I held it up, feeling the cold metal press into my palm.

Damon crouched beside me, inspecting the locket with an intensity I hadn't expected. "Anything inside?"

I pried it open, revealing a tiny piece of paper, folded neatly. My heart pounded as I unfolded it, revealing a single sentence in blocky handwriting: Do you remember?

I felt my stomach twist. This wasn't just a threat—it was a question. An invitation.

Damon took the note from me, frowning. "What is it you're supposed to remember?"

"I don't know," I said, frustrated. "But if he thinks I do, then he's wrong. This is his game, not mine."

Damon's eyes softened slightly. "It's not about the memories, Olivia. It's about the control he's trying to exert over you. He wants you to feel helpless."

"Well, he's failing." I stuffed the note into an evidence bag, sealing it with a snap. "Come on. Let's look for more. He must've left something else if he wants me to play along."

We searched in silence for another hour, every corner, every drawer and closet combed through, but nothing. The killer was either an expert at covering his tracks, or he'd left only what he wanted us to find. Either way, he was pulling us deeper into his twisted maze.

As we finished up, Damon watched me, his gaze serious. "This guy, whoever he is, knows you better than we realized. And he's not going to stop until he has what he wants."

I met his eyes, feeling a chill settle in my bones. "And I don't intend to give him the satisfaction."

As we left Clara's apartment, I couldn't shake the feeling that each step I took was leading me further into his trap. The question wasn't if he'd strike again. It was where, when—and how close he'd get to me before I found him first.

The Darkest HourWhere stories live. Discover now