The glove lay on the counter like a sealed letter from the past. Smooth leather, faintly creased at the knuckles, smelling faintly of antiseptic and sandalwood.
Aria stared at it.
Her heart was thudding again — not with fear this time, but something worse:
Recognition.
She picked up the form — the one titled "Relapse" — and read the lines slowly.
No name.
No date of birth.
Just a clinical breakdown written in familiar, deliberate handwriting:
> "Symptoms: Night sweats. Hallucinations. Touch deprivation. Self-destruction urges. Identity distortion."
"Diagnosis: Rebound psychosis triggered by emotional withdrawal."
"Treatment required: Immediate reconnection with subject. Or isolation will result in collapse."
And at the bottom, scribbled in red ink:
> "You broke me. Now fix me."
Aria gritted her teeth.
> "Frederick…"
-
She paced the empty shop.
Three months of rebuilding. Of therapy. Of peace.
Marie was better. Aria was better.
But something inside her wouldn't stop.
A whisper that had her checking shadows, replaying his voice in her dreams.
She had almost convinced herself that part of her life was over.
But the glove was real.
The message was real.
And he was close.
That night, she went to the only place twisted enough for him to hide in plain sight — an abandoned in-patient rehab center on the edge of town.
It was condemned. Chained shut.
But when she climbed through the shattered side window, she found a trail.
Old rose petals.
And blood.
She followed it up a stairwell, heart thudding, until she reached a dim corridor with flickering lights.
There — sitting on the cold floor, back against the wall — was Dr. Frederick Vance.
Unshaven. Hollow-eyed. Shirt soaked in sweat.
He looked up when she stepped in.
> "Took you long enough," he rasped.
> "You're insane," she whispered.
> "I've missed you."
Aria stood over him, torn between running and falling.
> "You left. You vanished. I thought—"
> "I wanted you safe."
> "But I wasn't. I kept seeing you in everything. In mirrors. In dreams."
Frederick's voice cracked.
> "I didn't know how else to protect you… without losing you."
> "You did lose me," she snapped. "You left me with a broken sister and your trail of blood."
> "Then why are you here?"
Silence.
Then:
> "Because I'm the only one who understands what you really are."
He stood.
Still tall. Still terrifying.
But now, stripped of the calm and polish.
Just a man.
Damaged. Waiting.
He held out his hand.
> "One more time. No lies. No therapy. Just you and me. The truth."
Aria hesitated.
Then took his hand.
The motel room smelled like cheap soap, whiskey, and old ink.
Aria sat at the edge of the bed, staring at the dusty window blinds while Frederick paced behind her like a caged animal.
> "You're not sleeping," she said.
> "Can't."
> "Nightmares?"
> "Memories."
Aria turned slowly. He was shirtless, arms covered in faded scars and fresh bruises — reminders of Lucia, of fire, of everything he didn't say out loud.
> "Tell me," she said. "About her. The girl."
Frederick stopped moving.
And for a moment, she thought he wouldn't answer.
Then—
> "Her name was Ivy."
He handed Aria an old manila envelope — thick, yellowed with time. No hospital logo. No digital trace. Just her name scrawled across the front in a trembling, childish script.
IVY VALE.
> "Vale?" Aria's eyes narrowed. "Lucia's—"
> "Half-sister," Frederick muttered. "Lucia never told anyone."
Aria opened the file.
Inside were photos, clinical notes, and a psych evaluation filled with words like:
> "Emotionally mute."
> "High risk of sexual repression trauma."
> "Unfit for traditional therapy."
But what caught Aria's breath was the final notation, scribbled in the margins:
> "Assign to Dr. Vance. If she bonds, continue physical contact to increase progress. Record all outcomes. Trial ID: Red Eclipse."
> "She wasn't your patient," Aria whispered. "She was an experiment."
Frederick sat down heavily.
> "Lucia wanted control over Ivy. She thought the girl was a weakness in her empire. So she made her mine. Told me to do what I had to, to 'fix her.'"
> "What did you do?"
His voice cracked.
> "I loved her."
Aria froze.
> "You what?"
> "Not in the way Lucia expected. I didn't touch her. I just… listened. For weeks. Months. She was the only person who looked at me and didn't see a monster."
Aria felt her stomach twist.
> "What happened to her?"
> "She disappeared," he said. "The day before I was going to tell her I was running away."
> "Lucia?"
> "I think she locked Ivy up somewhere. Or worse. She always feared Ivy would inherit her power."
Just then, Aria's burner phone buzzed.
A message.
No number.
Just a video.
She played it with trembling fingers.
A dim room.
A woman sitting on a metal bed, her face mostly hidden beneath long black hair.
Then she looked up — slowly — and Aria's breath caught in her throat.
> "Frederick," the woman rasped. "If you're seeing this… then Lucia's dead. And I'm still not free."
> "They buried me alive in a place called Crimson Wake. If you still remember me — come finish what you started."
Frederick stood slowly, eyes wide.
> "Ivy's alive."
> "We can't go after her," Aria said softly. "We just escaped a war. My sister's barely holding together. You're still bleeding."
> "She was the first person I didn't hurt, Aria," Frederick said. "If I leave her now, I'll be no better than Lucia."
Aria closed her eyes.
She had barely recovered from one abyss.
But now the man she couldn't stop loving was about to walk into another.
> "Then I'm coming with you."