ain poured over Manhattan like a curtain of whispers. It hadn't stopped since midnight. Ava stood by the narrow window of her temporary apartment on 79th Street, her eyes tracing the streaks of water as they slid down the glass. Each droplet carried a thought, a memory, or a question she hadn't dared to voice aloud.
The events of the past few days had twisted her world beyond recognition. Ben's sudden reappearance, the warning, the flash drive labeled "Cassandra," and now, the eerie recording of a voice she couldn't forget. The woman on the tape wasn't just a stranger. She was something more—something deeper, buried in Ava's subconscious like a suppressed truth.
Caroline hadn't returned to New York. That much was clear. After texting Ava that she'd be in town the next evening, she'd gone silent. No messages. No calls. Not even her Boston landline picked up.
Ava had called three times. Then stopped. Her instincts screamed that something was wrong.
She moved away from the window, the wood floors cold against her bare feet. The small apartment had become both sanctuary and trap—safe from the noise of the city, but a prison for her thoughts.
She sat at the table and unfolded the sketch of the townhouse again. The red circle in the library. The word "Cassandra."
She thought about the moment in the library when she heard footsteps upstairs. Whoever it was hadn't come down. She'd left in a rush. But something inside her said it wasn't over. That house still held more answers.
Ava turned on her laptop. The flash drive blinked with a faint red light as it connected. She clicked open the remaining folders, scanning names and dates.
"Interview_02_Cass_94.mp3"
She hesitated before hitting play.
The recording crackled to life. A male voice—nervous, academic—began asking questions.
"This is Interview Two, March 1994. Subject: Cassandra Elowen. Location: unknown. Can you state your full name, please?"
A pause.
Then a voice answered. Female. Calm. Soft. Terrifyingly familiar.
"You already know who I am."
Ava sat back, chills crawling down her arms. That voice... she'd heard it in her dreams. And lately, in her waking thoughts.
"Tell me about the Ghosh City," the man asked.
Another pause. Then Cassandra laughed. It was a delicate sound, but it echoed in the room like glass breaking.
"You don't ask about Ghosh. Ghosh asks about you."
The line went silent for a second. Ava leaned closer to the screen.
"You think you found me," Cassandra continued, "but I've always been in you."
Ava slammed the laptop shut.
She couldn't explain the sense of violation, as though something had reached through the speakers and touched the back of her mind.
She stared at the flash drive. What was this? A psychological experiment? A code? Or a warning?
She needed help.
Ava grabbed her phone and scrolled to the last text from an old contact. Julian Roth. A data analyst she'd met during her time at the Times. Quiet, paranoid, but brilliant.
She typed: "I need you to look into a name. Cassandra Elowen. Can we meet? Urgent."
The reply came less than a minute later: "Brooklyn Public Archives. Noon. Come alone."
---
The rain hadn't stopped. Ava wrapped herself in her old trench coat and caught a cab downtown. The city blurred through the windshield like an oil painting.
Brooklyn Public Archives sat nestled between two old buildings on a narrow side street. It was a forgotten place, mostly used by students and amateur historians. Ava pushed through the glass doors and was greeted by the smell of old books and wet umbrellas.
Julian was already there, seated near the microfiche machines with a worn laptop and three thick binders beside him. His shaggy brown hair stuck to his forehead. He hadn't changed.
"You look like hell," he said.
"Thanks. So do you."
He gestured to the seat beside him. "You didn't tell me you were dealing with ghosts."
Ava sat, keeping her coat on. "I didn't know I was."
Julian opened one of the binders. Inside were copies of newspaper articles, records, and strange hand-written notes.
"Cassandra Elowen is a dead end," he began. "No birth record. No death certificate. But the name pops up in weird places—mental health reports, missing persons files, even a few encrypted government documents. Always under aliases. Always near events labeled as unsolved."
Ava leaned in. "And Ghosh City?"
Julian nodded slowly. "Urban legend. Maybe. Maybe not. The name appeared in some leaked documents during the 80s. Supposedly a psychological program, or a location. No one's sure. But here's the weird part. People who mention Ghosh in forums? They disappear. Online traces wiped."
Ava's skin prickled. "And Ben?"
Julian pulled out a printed photo. It was grainy. Surveillance footage.
"He visited a federal research lab six months ago in Maryland. The place went dark a week later. Entire facility offline."
Ava took the photo, her hands trembling. Ben was standing near a gated entrance, speaking to someone off-camera.
Julian continued, voice low. "He was involved in something big, Ava. Whatever it was, he wasn't just hiding from you. He was protecting you."
Ava tried to breathe. The walls of the archive felt smaller now, like they were closing in.
"What do I do?"
Julian handed her a keycard. It was black, marked only with a silver E.
"There's a storage locker in Queens. It belonged to a Dr. Felix Wren. I think he was Ben's contact. The passcode is 0317. Go today. Before someone else finds it."
Ava took the keycard and stood. "Julian... thank you."
He gave a half-smile. "Be careful. The more you learn, the less you'll want to know."
---
The locker facility was as sterile as a morgue. Concrete halls, fluorescent lighting, and a receptionist who didn't even look up.
Locker 47 was in the far corner. Ava slid the keycard, typed the code, and the lock clicked open.
Inside were shelves stacked with boxes. Old documents, audio reels, and a dusty tape recorder. One box was labeled: "Project Echo."
Ava opened it and found another flash drive.
No label.
She pocketed it, took a few photos of the documents, and left. She didn't notice the man watching her from a parked car across the street.
---
That night, Ava sat at her apartment table again. The second flash drive trembled slightly between her fingers.
She inserted it. This time, the folder held one single file: "echo001.mov"
She double-clicked.
The video was grainy, timestamped May 1994. A woman sat in a chair, restrained. Her face bruised. Eyes wide.
The voice off camera asked, "What did you see in the city?"
The woman sobbed. "It wasn't a city. It was inside my mind."
Static.
Then a flash of the same red circle Ava had seen on the map.
And a whisper:
"We remember you, Ava Mitchell."
The screen went black.
---
The rain kept falling.
And somewhere across the city, someone dialed a number.
"She opened the second drive. We move tonight."
---