The night came like a shroud, pressing down over the city. Elara Wolfe's apartment felt smaller, suffocating. The red fog returned, curling around the edges of her perception, seeping into her consciousness, blurring the lines between reality and hallucination.
She sat on the floor, knees drawn to her chest, trembling. The metallic taste of iron was stronger now, a warning, a reminder that someone had been here, manipulating the pieces, leaving evidence, leaving clues, leaving her teetering on the edge of terror and comprehension.
Raven emerged first, moving fluidly through the room. Every motion was deliberate, controlled, precise. She assessed, she protected, she acted. And yet, Mira was there too, hidden, whispering, twisting, planting doubt, threading lies into Elara's mind.
Elara felt herself dissolve between the two. One part wanted to flee, to escape the fog, the red, the shadows. Another part wanted to fight, to strike, to protect. And another part… the part that was Mira… waited, calculating, knowing, smiling.
The fog thickened, coiling like fingers around her, pulling her toward visions she could not escape. The alley. The woman in red. The black feather. Blood. Death. And always, watching from the corner of her mind, the shadow of someone who knew her better than she knew herself.