Chapter 90
Chapter 90
The sound of the gunshot still echoed in Elena’s ears long after she ran.
She didn’t remember how she got home—only the blur of lights, sirens in the distance, her reflection in the subway window looking pale and hollow. Her clothes were damp, her hands shaking uncontrollably. Somewhere on that bridge, someone had fallen, and she had fled before she could face who.
By the time she reached her apartment, the rain had stopped, but the storm inside her had not. She locked the door, bolted it, then slid down against the wall, trembling.
Her phone buzzed again. Dozens of missed calls. Adrian.
Another list from an unknown number—no name. Just one chilling message:
You should have stayed away from both of them.
She dropped the phone as though it burned her.
Her breath came shallow. Who was watching her now?
She wanted to call someone—to hear a familiar voice, to find an anchor in the chaos. Without thinking, she dialed Maya. Her best friend. Her constant. The one person who always managed to ground her when her life spun out of control.
It rang twice, then went to voicemail.
“Hey, it’s me,” Elena said, voice cracking. “Can you call me? Please? Something happened, and I just— I just need to talk. I’m not okay.”
She hung up and tried again. Still nothing.
It wasn’t unusual for Maya to be out late—she worked at a downtown art gallery and sometimes stayed late for openings—but tonight felt different. Wrong.
Elena tried to shake it off. Maybe Maya was with someone. Maybe she’d lost her phone again. But the dread wouldn’t leave her.
She paced the apartment, glancing at the window every few seconds. A shadow flickered once across the street, and her heart seized.
By midnight, she couldn’t take it anymore. She grabbed her coat, keys, and phone, and took the subway downtown.
The gallery was dark when she arrived. The “Closed” sign hung crooked in the door, and the inside was empty—no music, no light, just the faint smell of paint and wine from earlier that evening.
“Maya?” she called, knocking lightly.
No answer.
She tried the handle. Unlocked.
Every instinct screamed not to go in, but she pushed the door anyway. It creaked open.
“Maya?”
The sound of her own voice echoed too loudly. The air felt thick, heavy with something she couldn’t name. She stepped inside, phone flashlight trembling in her hand.
The beam of light swept across canvases stacked against the wall, a spilled glass of red wine near the counter, a single heel lying on the floor.
Her heart pounded. “Maya?”
The flashlight caught movement—no, not movement. Something wrong.
A streak of red.
Elena’s breath caught in her throat. She took one step forward, then another.
Her phone’s light landed on Maya’s body.
The world stopped.
Her best friend lay crumpled on the floor behind the counter, her hair matted with blood, eyes open but unseeing. The crimson trail across the tiles looked almost like one of her abstract paintings, grotesque and deliberate.
Elena dropped to her knees with a strangled cry. “No… no, no, no.”
Her shaking hands hovered above Maya’s face, afraid to touch, afraid to confirm what she already knew. “Oh God…”
Her phone slipped from her grasp, clattering to the floor. She barely registered the screen lighting up with an incoming call—Adrian.
She didn’t answer. Couldn’t.
Her entire body went cold, the world spinning. She forced herself to back away, pressing against the wall. She tried to breathe but her chest felt like it was caving in.
This wasn’t real. It couldn’t be real.
But the blood soaking into her jeans where she knelt told her otherwise.
Finally, through the fog of panic, she fumbled for her phone and called 911. Her voice was barely human when she spoke. “My friend—my friend’s been murdered. Please, hurry.”
The police arrived within minutes, lights flashing red and blue across the rain-slicked street. Elena stood outside wrapped in a blanket, numb, answering questions she barely heard.
“Yes, I found her.”
“No, I didn’t see anyone.”
“Yes, she was alone.”
Detective Hale’s name was whispered among the officers, but he wasn’t there. A younger detective, Morales, took her statement instead. He was gentle, but she could see the doubt in his eyes—the unspoken suspicion.
People were dying around her. First the women in the city, now Maya.
And she was the common thread.
When Morales finally let her go, she walked aimlessly through the rain. Her phone buzzed again—three new messages from Adrian.
Elena, where are you?
I heard what happened. I’m coming to get you.
Please, don’t talk to the police until I see you.
Her blood ran cold. How did he already know?
She stared at the messages, trembling. Was he watching her? Or worse—had he been there?
She deleted his texts without replying, but her hands shook so violently she nearly dropped the phone. She ducked into a doorway, leaning against the cold brick wall, tears streaking her face.
Maya was gone. Her laughter, her teasing, the way she’d always said “If he seems too good to be true, he is.”
She had warned Elena about Adrian from the start.
And now she was dead.
A sound nearby snapped her out of her thoughts—a faint click, like a camera shutter. She spun around, but the street was empty. Only the rain, only her reflection in the window of a closed bakery.
Still, the feeling of being watched was unmistakable.
She ran.
By the time she reached her apartment, exhaustion had turned to hysteria. She slammed the door shut, locked it, and slid to the floor again.
She couldn’t think straight. Her mind replayed the image of Maya’s body over and over until she was sobbing uncontrollably.
On the coffee table, Adrian’s scarf was still draped where he’d left it that morning. She stared at it like it was a snake ready to strike.
The doorbell rang.
She froze.
Once.
Twice.
A pause. Then again.
“Elena, it’s me,” Adrian’s voice came through the door.
Her pulse raced.
She didn’t move.
“Elena,” he said again, softer this time. “I heard what happened. Please, open the door.”
“How do you know about Maya?” she whispered, too low for him to hear.
There was a pause, then, “It’s all over the news. They said you found her. I needed to see if you’re okay.”
Her hand hovered over the lock. She wanted to believe him. She wanted the comfort of his arms, the illusion that he could still protect her. But she also remembered the blood on the necklace she found under his bed.
“Go away,” she said hoarsely.
“Elena—”
“Just go!”
The silence that followed was unbearable. Then came the sound of footsteps retreating down the hall.
She sank against the door, shaking.
When she finally gathered the strength to move, she went to her bedroom, shut the door, and collapsed on the bed fully clothed. But sleep didn’t come. Only the images did—Maya’s lifeless eyes, the bridge, Hale’s calm voice, Adrian’s shadow.
By dawn, she sat upright again, staring at the wall.
Someone was orchestrating all of this. Every piece of her life—every relationship, every fear—had been weaponized. Adrian and Hale were two sides of a nightmare she couldn’t wake from.
But Maya’s death changed everything. It wasn’t random. It wasn’t distant. It was personal.
And whoever killed her wanted Elena to know it.
At sunrise, she went to Maya’s apartment. The police tape was still fresh across the door, but she ducked under it, heart pounding. Inside, everything smelled faintly of vanilla and turpentine, just as Maya had left it.
She moved carefully, scanning the room. And then she saw it—an envelope on the counter, half-hidden under a sketchbook. Her name written in Maya’s neat, looping handwriting.
Elena froze, then opened it.
Inside was a single sheet of paper.
El, if anything happens to me, don’t trust either of them. Hale or Adrian. They’re both lying. Follow the money, not the stories.
Her breath caught.
Beneath the note was a flash drive.
She stared at it, tears blurring her vision. “Oh, Maya…”
The grief cracked something inside her, but beneath it, a spark ignited—cold, fierce determination.
Whoever killed Maya had made one mistake. They’d underestimated her.
She slipped the flash drive into her pocket and turned toward the door. The street outside glowed faintly with morning light, and for the first time in days, her fear was replaced by something else.
Resolve.
Maya was gone. But she had left a trail.
And Elena was going to follow it—no matter where it led.