The Chase.

Councilor Ethan Cole prided himself on his discipline. His constituents saw him as steadfast, incorruptible—a man of the people. But when she walked into his clinic, all of that unraveled.

Her name was Lily. She had a rent dispute, her landlord threatening eviction. Nothing extraordinary, just another case in a long line of bureaucratic headaches. But from the moment she sat before him, Ethan felt it—a pull, a force stronger than reason. He could barely focus on her words. Her voice dripped like honey, and when she laughed, something inside him broke free.

He fast-tracked her case, bending rules he’d sworn to uphold. The landlord backed off, and in gratitude, she accepted his offer for coffee. One coffee turned into dinner. Dinner into long, lingering touches. He showered her with gifts—bracelets, silk scarves, perfume. He had never done this before, never chased with such reckless abandon.

And then, at last, she agreed to come home with him.

Their night was fire, pure and consuming. He had never felt anything like it, like being seen for the first time. When he finally drifted to sleep, his last thought was her name on his lips.

Morning came. The bed was cold.

She was gone.

Her gifts were still scattered around his penthouse, some unopened. His phone was beeping incessantly.

He reached for it groggily.

Voicemail full.

His pulse quickened. He checked his messages. Thirty-two missed calls. His heart pounded as his phone rang again.

His personal assistant, Marla, frantic.

“Oh, thank God! Are you okay?”

“What?” he croaked. “What’s wrong?”

“No one’s been able to reach you! It’s been a week, Ethan. A whole week.”

His stomach clenched. “What are you talking about? That’s impossible.”

“You disappeared! Your staff, the police—we’ve been searching everywhere! Your apartment was locked from the inside. No signs of you leaving.”

A cold sweat broke across his skin.

“I was here, Marla. I met someone. A woman. Lily. We spent the night together.”

A long pause.

“Ethan…” Marla’s voice dropped to a whisper. “Lily Carter?”

His mouth went dry. “You—you know her?”

Another pause. Then, barely audible—

“Lily Carter died five years ago.”

A chill clawed up his spine.

“Evicted. No one helped her. She overdosed in her apartment the night before the bailiffs came.”

Ethan’s breath came in short gasps.

“You signed off on her case,” Marla continued. “She was yours. You ignored it.”

He stumbled to the mirror.

Heart hammering.

His reflection stared back—hollow-eyed. Clothes wrinkled. Skin sallow, like he hadn't seen sunlight in days.

The perfume still lingered on his sheets. The unopened gifts remained. But the receipts… the receipts were years old.

He turned sharply, pulse racing. The room felt… off. The air too thick.

A whisper curled through the air.

Soft.

Familiar.

“I waited for you.”

His breath hitched.

The mirror fogged over, though the room was ice-cold. And there—etched in the condensation—was a single word, written by a hand that shouldn’t exist.

Run.

The lights flickered.

Ethan turned—too late.

A shadow moved behind him.

Cold hands touched his skin.

And the world went dark.