Jonah flipped open another file from the stack on his desk. The paper was faded, the edges curling slightly, like it had been handled too many times.
"This one's five years old," he said, sliding the folder toward Mira. "Lena Whitmore. Twenty-three when she disappeared."
Mira opened it carefully.
Photos of a woman stared back — long brown hair, sharp eyes, a faint scar above her lip. Not Carly Voss, but something about her face stirred something in Mira's memory.
"She was last seen outside an art gallery downtown," Jonah continued. "Her car was found two days later, abandoned near the train tracks. No signs of struggle. No ransom. Just… gone."
Mira scanned the report.
Then she saw it.
A drawing taped to the inside cover.
Flames. Smoke. A red door.
And beneath it, in the same looping script:
**"Find me."**
She swallowed hard.
"I've seen this before," she whispered.
Jonah leaned forward. "Where?"
"At the café," she said. "The girl—Lena—drew this. Or someone who looked just like her."
He frowned. "You're saying you saw her? Alive?"
"No," Mira shook her head. "I mean… yes. I think so. But she didn't look any older than she did in this photo."
"That would make her a ghost," Jonah muttered.
"I don't believe in ghosts either," Mira said quietly. "But I do believe in patterns."
Jonah sat back, rubbing his jaw. "So what are we dealing with here? Some kind of copycat killer? Someone reenacting old crimes?"
Mira hesitated. "Or someone using them as a blueprint."
He gave her a sharp look. "That's not comforting."
She ignored him and flipped through more files. Each one followed the same structure — victim profile, crime scene photos, police notes. And each ended the same way: unsolved.
Until she reached the bottom of the stack.
This one wasn't labeled like the others. No official case number. Just a manila envelope sealed with tape.
She pulled it out.
Jonah stiffened. "That one's different."
"How?"
He didn't answer right away. Instead, he reached over and opened it himself.
Inside was a single photograph.
A woman, bound to a chair, blindfolded.
No name listed. No location.
Just a date scrawled in the corner of the photo:
**April 14, 2019**
Five years ago.
Mira stared at the image, something cold crawling up her spine.
There was something familiar about the woman.
Not her face — she couldn't see that.
But the posture. The way her hands were tied. The faint bruise along her wrist.
It reminded her of herself.
She blinked.
"You recognize her?" Jonah asked.
"No," she said slowly. "But I feel like I should."
He studied her for a moment, then handed her another page from the envelope.
A transcript.
Interrogation log. Two voices: one belonging to a detective, the other to a witness.
> **Detective:** Describe what you saw again.
> **Witness:** I told you already. There was a woman. In a red coat. Watching the building. She never moved. Just stood there.
> **Detective:** What did she look like?
> **Witness:** Tall. Thin. Dark hair. Pale skin.
> **Detective:** Was she alone?
> **Witness:** No. There was a girl with her. Young. Maybe ten or eleven. Holding a sketchpad. Drawing something.
> **Detective:** What was she drawing?
> **Witness:** A house. On fire.
Mira's breath caught.
Jonah watched her closely. "This was taken the night Lena Whitmore vanished."
She looked up at him. "And the woman in the red coat?"
He exhaled. "We never identified her."
Mira turned the page.
Another photo.
This time, the woman was gone.
Only the girl remained.
Standing alone in front of the burning house.
Holding the same sketchpad.
Drawing the same picture.
Again and again.
**"Find me."**
### 🔍
They spent the next hour going through every file Jonah had collected. The pattern was unmistakable now — every disappearance followed the same eerie sequence.
Victim chosen.
Watched.
Drawn.
Taken.
And always, the same message left behind.
**"Find me."**
Mira rubbed her temples. "This isn't random."
Jonah nodded. "No. It's ritualistic. Purposeful."
She looked at him. "What if it's not just about the victims?"
"What do you mean?"
"What if it's about *me*?"
Jonah frowned. "You think someone's targeting you?"
"I think someone's trying to tell me something," she said. "Through them."
He didn't respond right away. Then he reached for his phone.
"I know someone who might be able to help us make sense of this."
"Who?"
"A profiler. Former FBI. Retired after a breakdown. Lives off-grid now."
Mira raised an eyebrow. "Sounds like a conspiracy theorist."
"He's the only one who ever came close to solving this case," Jonah said. "Back when Lena Whitmore disappeared."
She hesitated. "And what did he say?"
Jonah met her gaze.
"He said the killer wasn't human."
---
### 🧠
They left the station half an hour later.
Rain had picked up, turning the streets slick and reflective. Mira wrapped her coat tighter around her as they climbed into Jonah's car.
"You really think this guy can help?" she asked.
"He might," Jonah said. "If he hasn't lost it completely."
She glanced at him. "How bad was the breakdown?"
Jonah didn't answer right away.
"He started seeing things," he said finally. "Hearing voices. Thought he was being guided by someone — someone who knew everything about the cases."
Mira's stomach twisted.
Voices.
Guidance.
She knew exactly how that felt.
They drove in silence for a while.
Then Jonah spoke again.
"There's something else you should know."
She turned to him.
"What?"
He glanced at her, jaw tight. "One of those victims… she was my sister."
Mira froze.
"What?"
He nodded. "Claire Rourke. Disappeared ten years ago. Same pattern. Same message. Same… drawings."
She stared at him.
"I'm sorry," she whispered.
He exhaled. "I thought I'd buried this. But now… now it's happening again. And somehow, you're right in the middle of it."
Mira looked out the window, heart pounding.
Because she knew what he didn't yet.
This wasn't just happening again.
It was repeating.
Exactly.
And if she didn't figure out why soon…
She might be next.
---
As Jonah drives Mira to meet the retired profiler, Daniel calls with urgent news — he's decrypted part of the voicemail file. Hidden within the audio is a set of coordinates. When mapped, they lead to an abandoned psychiatric hospital — where Mira was treated after the fire that killed her family.
Something ties her past directly to the killings.
And someone wants her to remember.