Shadow of the Forgotten

Detective Ethan Graves woke to the sharp scent of antiseptic and the faint beeping of a heart monitor. His vision swam as he tried to focus on the white ceiling above him. The dull pounding in his skull made it difficult to think, but one thought kept surfacing: Where am I?

He turned his head slowly, wincing at the stiffness in his neck. A sterile hospital room. Machines connected to his arm. A light breeze stirred the curtains near the window, letting in the distant hum of city traffic. And then, he saw it.

A small, crumpled piece of paper lay on the nightstand beside his bed. With shaky fingers, he picked it up and unfolded it. The words, scrawled in thick black ink, sent a chill down his spine:

Trust no one.

The handwriting was unmistakably his own.

Ethan’s heart pounded as he struggled to recall anything. How had he ended up here? What had happened to him? The last memory he could grasp was… nothing. Just a black void where his life should have been.

A nurse entered the room, clipboard in hand. “You’re awake. That’s good. You were in pretty bad shape when they brought you in.”

He licked his dry lips. “What happened?”

She frowned. “You don’t remember?”

“No,” he admitted. “Not a damn thing.”

The nurse’s hesitation was almost imperceptible. Almost. “You were found unconscious in an alley. No ID, no phone. Just that note in your pocket.”

Ethan clenched the paper in his fist. “Did anyone come looking for me?”

“Not that I know of.” She offered him a cautious smile. “But maybe the police can help.”

A strange unease settled over him. He was the police. At least, he thought he was. The badge on his nightstand confirmed it: Detective Ethan Graves, Homicide Division. The name felt familiar but distant, like a song he couldn’t quite recall the lyrics to.

The nurse left him alone with his thoughts. He took a deep breath and forced his sluggish limbs to move. The dizziness threatened to pull him back under, but he pushed past it. He needed answers. And he wasn’t going to find them lying in a hospital bed.

Hours later, Ethan walked into the precinct, wearing borrowed clothes from the hospital’s lost and found. His own belongings were missing—wallet, phone, gun. All gone. The only thing he had was the warning from himself.

“Graves?” a voice called. A burly man with salt-and-pepper hair strode toward him, brows furrowed. “Jesus, you look like hell. Where the hell have you been?”

Ethan searched the man’s face. Familiar, but… “Who are you?”

The man’s expression darkened. “It’s me, Carter. Your partner.”

Ethan wanted to believe him. Wanted to reach out and grasp onto something solid, but the note in his pocket burned like a brand against his skin. Trust no one.

“Yeah,” Ethan said carefully. “It’s been a rough couple of days.”

Carter studied him. “You sure you’re okay?”

No. Not even close. “I just need to piece a few things together.”

Carter exhaled heavily. “We’ve been looking for you. You went dark three nights ago while working the Donovan case.”

Donovan. The name stirred something deep inside him. A flicker of memory—a man with sharp eyes and a knowing smirk. Blood on his hands. Don’t trust anyone.

“Did I say anything before I disappeared?” Ethan asked.

Carter shook his head. “Nothing. One minute you were following a lead, next thing we know, your car’s abandoned, and you’re gone.”

Ethan’s stomach knotted. Someone had wanted him out of the way. Had he gotten too close to something? Too close to the truth?

He rubbed his temples. “Did I find anything? On Donovan?”

Carter hesitated. “We were onto something big, but I don’t know how much you found before you vanished. And now the case has been shut down.”

“What?”

“The higher-ups said it was a dead end. No evidence. Just like that, it’s done.”

Ethan’s gut twisted. Someone had made sure the case went away. Someone with power. Someone who didn’t want him remembering.

“Listen,” Carter said, lowering his voice. “You don’t look good, partner. Maybe you should rest up before jumping back in.”

Ethan forced a smirk. “You saying I look bad?”

“I’m saying you look like a guy who got his skull knocked in.”

Maybe he had. Maybe it had been worse. But Ethan wasn’t about to let it stop him. If someone had tried to erase his memories, then he needed to know why. And he needed to find out fast.

“I need to check something,” Ethan said, stepping toward his desk. It was exactly how he imagined a detective’s desk should look—messy, cluttered, covered in case files and empty coffee cups. He rummaged through the papers, searching for anything that might jog his memory.

Then he found it.

A photograph. A grainy, black-and-white surveillance image of a man in a suit stepping into a car. Something about him sent shivers down Ethan’s spine. He flipped the photo over. There was a note scrawled on the back:

‘The truth is buried. Don’t let them win.’

His handwriting. Again.

A cold realization settled over him. He had left himself clues before losing his memory. Whoever had done this to him had failed to erase everything. But for how long?

Ethan turned to Carter, forcing his expression into something neutral. “You’re right. I should take it easy.”

Carter nodded approvingly. “Good. Let me know if you need anything.”

Ethan gave him a small smile. But inside, every instinct screamed at him.

Carter can’t be trusted.

No one could.

With the note still in his pocket and the weight of his missing past pressing down on him, Ethan knew one thing for sure—

The real case had only just begun.