Echoes in the Dark

CHAPTER 8

The address burned in Mara’s mind all night, a single thread tugging at the back of her thoughts until it unraveled her sleep completely. By dawn, she was already sitting at Adrian’s kitchen table, staring at the card like it might start whispering answers.

Adrian emerged from the bedroom—not the couch. She didn’t question it, but the faint scent of coffee and gun oil followed him as he crossed the room.

“You’re up early,” he said, setting a mug in front of her.

“Couldn’t sleep. I kept thinking about the address.”

“That’s exactly what they want.” He sipped his coffee. “Keep you restless. Push you toward a bad decision.”

She frowned. “So we don’t go?”

“Oh, we’re going,” he said, deadpan. “But on our terms.”

By mid-morning, they were in the car, the city’s gray skyline giving way to industrial decay. The address led them to the old Harrington Textile Mill—abandoned for over a decade, its red-brick walls stained with soot and graffiti.

The air was colder here. Still. Even the gulls that haunted the nearby river seemed to avoid the place.

“This looks exactly like a murder scene in a horror movie,” Mara muttered.

Adrian scanned the building, eyes catching on the shattered upper windows, the rusted fire escape. “Except in those, the idiots walk right in. We’re not idiots.”

He handed her a small earpiece. “Stay behind me. Keep your eyes open for trip wires, pressure plates—anything.”

“Comforting,” she said dryly.

Inside, the air was thick with the smell of old oil and mildew. Shafts of pale light cut through the broken ceiling, dust motes swirling in the beams. Their footsteps echoed off the cracked concrete, each sound amplified until it felt like they were announcing themselves to the entire building.

Adrian moved with calculated precision, his flashlight sweeping over rusted machinery and piles of rotting fabric.

Then they saw it.

A chair in the center of the floor, spotlighted by a single flickering bulb hanging from a cord. On the chair sat a manila envelope.

“That’s not suspicious at all,” Mara whispered.

Adrian didn’t touch it right away. He circled it once, scanning the ground. “Pressure plate. And…” He crouched, flashlight beam catching on a nearly invisible wire leading from under the chair to a steel beam above.

“Trip the plate, and whatever’s up there drops,” he murmured.

“What’s up there?”

He aimed the light higher. A steel girder. A rope. And dangling from it—a heavy cement block. Right above where the person opening the envelope would be standing.

“Old school,” Adrian said. “But still deadly.”

He dismantled the setup carefully, disarming the trap before lifting the envelope.

Inside was a single photograph.

Mara’s stomach dropped.

It was a candid shot of her taken two nights ago when she was walking home from the precinct. She was looking down at her phone, unaware of the shadow trailing her in the background.

Her hands clenched involuntarily. “They were this close?”

Adrian’s jaw tightened. “Closer. Look at the reflection in the shop window behind you.”

She did and saw it.

Not just a shadow. A man. The same man from the security footage at Eddie’s hideout. The one who had vanished before they could identify him.

The photo had a note scrawled across the back in black ink:

“You’re already in the dark. Keep walking.”

Mara swallowed. “This is personal now.”

“It was always personal,” Adrian said. “You just didn’t see it yet.”

They didn’t notice the sound at first—soft, deliberate steps echoing from somewhere above them. Then a second set.

Adrian’s head snapped up, eyes scanning the catwalks.

“Mara,” he said quietly, "looks like we’re not alone.”