Shadows and Secrets
Claire paused beneath a flickering streetlight, her breath visible in the cold night air. The brown leather bag pressed against her ribs contained more than just her wallet and keys; it was filled with records stolen from Presidio Labs. The decaying paper and faded ink inside were her only hope of understanding how Lydia could possibly be alive—if the note wasn’t just some elaborate trap.
The faint sound of slow, deliberate footsteps pulled her attention back to the present. She scanned the area but saw only the empty sidewalks, luminescent with the glow of the city’s old-fashioned amber streetlights. The brick buildings on either side stood silent and imposing, their darkened windows like empty eyes observing her plight.
“You shouldn’t have come,” said a voice from behind her. Deep and calm, it carried the weight of warning.
Claire spun around to face a man dressed entirely in black, his face hidden beneath the shadow of a brimmed hat. He stood under the light, the height difference between them accentuating the trench coat’s contrasting elegance against her dark jeans and practical leather boots.
“Who are you?” she demanded, taking a step back. Her hand dipped into the bag, brushing against the cold steel of the small pistol she had hastily packed before leaving her apartment.
“Someone who knows what happens when you dig too deep,” he answered cryptically. “Give me the files. Walk away. Trust me when I say, you’ll want to forget Lydia.”
The Red River
Claire didn’t answer. Instead, she turned and ran, hearing the man’s curse fade behind her as her boots pounded the uneven pavement. She clutched the bag tighter, feeling the hard edges of the folders press against her ribs. The Red River Bridge wasn’t far now. She had memorized its location from the city map, a relic of old cartography before digital apps dominated.
When she reached the bridge, the city faded like a distant hum. The river below glinted with dark crimson as it reflected taillights, street signs, and the occasional pulse of neon from local bars. She stepped onto the metal platform, her breath locked in her chest. Standing on the bridge, bathed in cold moonlight, was Lydia. Not a ghost. Not a memory. Her sister, alive and unaged.
“Claire,” Lydia said softly, her voice trembling. But there was something wrong—a lifelessness in her eyes, her movements too precise. “Give it to me. The bag. They promised to let us both go if you do.”
Confusion and anguish choked Claire’s thoughts, but her instincts screamed it was a trap. “Who are they? Lydia, what did they do to you?”
Before Lydia could answer, the man in black emerged from the shadows, his hard eyes glinting like steel. “Time’s up,” he muttered.
A single shot rang out. Claire gasped and fell to her knees, reaching forward as Lydia crumpled like paper, her face frozen in shocked betrayal. The man stood over her, pistol in hand.
“I warned you,” he said quietly. The files, Lydia’s inexplicable return, the trap—it all dissolved as Claire’s vision blurred and darkness enveloped her. The last thing she saw was Lydia’s hand, reaching toward her, before it dropped lifelessly to the cold metal bridge.
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