I don’t let him in.

Cassian stands at my door, sketchbook in hand, waiting for me to open up.

He doesn’t look angry.

Just patient.

As if he expected this moment all along.

“Where did you get that?” I ask, my voice thin.

“I kept it.”

I shake my head. “No. I burned it. In the old studio, before—”

“Before the fire,” he finishes.

My stomach twists. “You were there that night?”

“I was always there.”

I shut the door without another word.

But it’s too late now.

I know what I saw on the flash drive.

And Cassian knows I’ve seen it.

---

Isaac returns an hour later.

He doesn’t knock. Just calls from the hallway and I let him in.

He carries a laptop and a stack of old newspaper clippings.

“What now?” I ask.

Isaac spreads the clippings on the floor. “There’s something about the fire that destroyed your studio. I traced the incident to an abandoned cabin listed under an anonymous trust... connected to Vale Holdings.”

I blink. “He owned it?”

“Not officially. But one of the shell companies leads to a Vale board member.”

He turns the laptop toward me. A paused video feed.

“What’s that?”

He clicks play.

The footage shows me—at least, a version of me—walking through the woods.

Eyes vacant.

Cassian behind me, always just far enough to be unseen.

“How did you get this?”

Isaac doesn’t answer immediately.

“I’ve been tracking his surveillance network. He has hidden cameras on every property he controls.”

My skin prickles.

“He’s been watching you for years, Amira. Long before the accident. Before the gallery. Even before you ever met him face to face.”

I sit back.

“Why?”

Isaac lowers his voice.

“There’s a theory I’ve been chasing. About a man who builds people. Reinvents them. Change who they were, so he can control who they become.”

He hands me a photo. A woman.

Dark hair. Wide eyes. Almost like mine.

“She was a painter, too,” he says. “And she disappeared five years ago.”

“What happened to her?”

“They say she went insane. Her art turned... violent. Cassian visited her once.”

“And then?”

“She never painted again.”

I stare at the photo.

The face burns into my mind.

And somewhere deep inside me, something shifts.

---

That night, I returned to the estate.

I don’t tell Isaac.

If I want the truth, I need to face it myself.

Cassian is waiting.

He opens the door like he knew I’d come.

“I want answers,” I say.

He nods once.

“I’ll give them.”

He leads me to the garden.

It’s dusk. The trees sway lightly, whispering secrets.

He gestures to a bench. I sit.

Cassian doesn’t sit. He stands, hands behind his back.

“You remember the fire,” he says.

I nod slowly.

“I found your sketchbook in the ashes. It wasn’t burned. Not fully. I kept it.”

“You could’ve told me.”

He meets my gaze. “Would you have believed me?”

I stay silent.

“I didn’t erase your past, Amira. I preserved it.”

I stand. “That’s not your decision to make.”

“You were slipping,” he says. “Losing yourself. You stopped eating. Sleeping. Speaking. You drew symbols no one understood.”

He pulls out another photo. A canvas.

One of mine.

But this one… I don’t recognize it.

Dark shapes. A hand reaching through a mirror. Red streaks.

“You painted this the night before you disappeared.”

I shake my head. “I didn’t—”

“You did. And I can prove it.”

He reaches into his coat and pulls out a phone.

A video.

Me, in the white room.

Screaming.

But the voice is distorted.

Not mine.

Cassian watches my reaction.

“I’ve been trying to find out what you saw that night,” he says.

“What I saw?”

He nods. “In the woods. Before the accident.”

I shiver.

“You keep dreaming of him, don’t you?” he asks.

“The faceless man.”

My breath catches.

“How do you know about him?”

“Because I saw him, too.”

---

Cassian takes me to the cabin.

The one from my sketch.

The same place from the footage Isaac showed.

It’s abandoned. Half-burned. The roof collapsed in one corner.

He unlocks the door.

We step inside.

The smell of ash and pine fills the air.

Cassian walks toward the fireplace.

Beneath the mantle, he pushes aside a loose brick.

Behind it—a box.

Inside: Polaroids.

Photos of me, asleep. Painting. Crying.

My knees buckle.

Cassian steadies me.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers.

“I didn’t want to show you this. But you need to remember.”

I pull away.

“You keep saying that. But maybe I don’t want to remember. Maybe there’s a reason my mind blocked it all out.”

Cassian’s expression hardens.

“Memories don’t disappear, Amira. They hide. And sometimes, they hide for a reason.”

I turn to leave.

And that’s when I hear it.

A floorboard creaks.

Cassian freezes.

He wasn’t the one who moved.

We’re not alone.

“Cassian,” I whisper.

He moves silently to my side.

And then—

A shadow darts past the broken window.

Cassian shouts, “Stay behind me!”

He runs out the door.

I follow, breath sharp in my throat.

The woods are dark now.

Branches slap my face as I run.

I see Cassian ahead—stumbling, searching.

And then I see him.

The faceless man.

Standing by the tree line.

Watching.

Cassian rushes toward him.

But he disappears into the dark.

Cassian stops, panting.

I caught up.

“Who was that?”

He doesn’t answer.

I grip his arm. “You said you saw him. What is he?”

Cassian looks at me—his eyes raw, almost afraid.

“He’s not what you think.”

The wind howls louder.

I hear my name.

Not from Cassian.

From the woods.

Whispered.

Mocking.

Amira...

Cassian grabs my hand.

“We have to go.”

But I pull away.

Because now—I remember.

I’ve seen that man before.

Not just in dreams.

But in the mirror.