She watched Voss from across the coffee shop — an unassuming corner place on 7th. Voss was seated by the window, nursing a dark roast, flipping through her tablet. Lena had timed her arrival perfectly.
The detective looked up just as Lena entered.
Their eyes met. Calm. Casual.
Lena smiled.
She moved toward her table like a cat approaching a rival — graceful, precise.
"Detective," she said, brushing the rain from her coat.
"What a surprise."
"Miss Cavanaugh." Voss gestured to the chair across from her.
"Join me?"
Lena did. Their knees almost touched beneath the small table.
Voss tilted her head. "You've been quiet lately."
"I've been thinking," Lena said, voice warm.
"About everything."
Voss didn't blink. "And?"
"I think it's strange," Lena said, resting her chin in her hand, mouth pouty.
"How so many people involved in my case have ended up dead. Don't you?"
Voss smirked faintly. "Coincidences do seem to follow you."
"They do." Lena's smile faltered slightly.
"Or maybe I'm just very unlucky."
A pause.
Then Voss leaned in.
"You remind me of a girl I met when I was sixteen. She pushed another student down the stairs. Broke his jaw in three places. Swore she didn't remember doing it. Cried through the whole trial. You know what the psychologist said?"
"Tell me."
"She was sorry for getting caught. Not for what she did."
Lena's smile widened.
"Is that why you became a detective?"
Voss shrugged. "Part of it. But girls like her… girls like you — you fascinate me."
There it was.
Lena's eyes flickered.
Recognition.
That night, Lena walked through her apartment with slow, measured steps. She traced her fingers along the mirror's edge, pausing when her reflection hesitated — just a second too long.
"She knows," it whispered.
"I know she knows," Lena replied.
"She wants to see how far you'll go."
"Then we'll show her."
She started laying the groundwork that evening.
She made a call using a burner phone, disguised her voice, tipped off a reporter about "strange inconsistencies" in Voss's past — an old internal affairs file, buried years ago.
Was it real?
No.
But it would slow her down.
Then she texted Voss from her personal number:
"We should talk again. I think I'm starting to remember more. Something important."
It was bait.
Voss bit instantly.
"Tomorrow. Same place."
That night, Lena dreamt of Voss.
But not dead.
Laughing.
Sitting across from her at a dinner table. Candlelight. Red wine. The knife between them — untouched.
"You're not like the others," Voss said, voice silk.
"No," Lena replied.
"I'm worse."
In the morning, Lena dressed carefully. Gray sweater. Clean jeans. No makeup. Innocent. Grieving. Damaged — but recovering.
She met Voss at the café again, slid into the same seat.
"Thanks for meeting me," she said softly.
"You said you remembered something."
Lena nodded. "Yes."
She looked down. Then up again, slower this time. "I remember the night of the fire. I remember… someone in the house. A man."
Voss's brow twitched — barely. "Go on."
"He was tall. Heavy boots. He had gloves on."
"Did you see his face?"
"No. But he laughed. Like it was a joke."
Voss wrote something down.
Then Lena leaned in. Her voice dropped.
"I think… he-he made me do things."
That made Voss pause.
She met Lena's gaze. "You think you were manipulated?"
Lena nodded, lips trembling. "I think I was… I don't know. Hypnotized. Coerced."
"You're saying you were under duress."
"Yes," Lena whispered. "You believe me, don't you?"
Voss studied her.
Then: "I believe something happened to you. But I don't know if you're ready to admit what it was."
Lena looked down at her hands. She made them shake.
"I want to remember. I do. But what if I was part of it? What if he made me… help?"
Voss leaned forward. "Then we find out the truth. Together."
Lena nodded, forcing a tear into her eyes. "Thank you."
They didn't speak after that.
But when they stood, Lena brushed her hand against Voss's arm.
Just enough for a fingerprint.
Just enough to feel her pulse.
That night, she wrote in her journal:
She's getting close. Too close.
But she likes me. I can feel it.
I don't have to run yet. I just have to keep her looking the wrong way.
Until I'm ready.
In the mirror, her reflection spoke again.
"She wants to save you."
"I know."
"But you can't be saved."
"I don't want to be."
"Then let her follow you into the fire."