Evan woke up before the feeling came.
His eyes opened in the dark. His heart was already beating too fast.
For two seconds, there was nothing.
Then the pressure settled inside his chest.
Not sudden.
Not violent.
Slow. Heavy.
Like a hand pressing gently over his heart… knowing exactly where it hurt.
Evan sat up, gasping.
The room looked unfamiliar for a moment. Shadows stretched along the walls. A thin line of light slipped under the door.
"No…" he whispered.
His hands started shaking.
This was different.
Before, the feeling came from far away.
This one was close.
Too close.
He stood up, legs weak, feet touching the cold floor.
And then the images came.
Not blood.
Not screams.
A small apartment.
Yellow light.
A kettle boiling somewhere.
Two people laughing.
A door closing softly.
Not forced.
Not locked in panic.
Closed with trust.
Evan staggered back and hit the wall.
His breath broke apart in his chest.
"They're letting them in," he whispered.
His knees gave up.
He slid down to the floor, hugging his ribs like he could hold his heart still.
"This one won't look like murder," he said to no one.
"It will look like love."
He forced himself up and banged weakly on the door.
"Knox… please…"
Noah had been staring at the case board too long.
Faces.
Names.
Lines crossing like veins.
Something was wrong.
He finally saw it.
The victims were not afraid.
Their last messages were calm.
I'm coming.
See you soon.
Already outside.
They trusted someone.
Noah's stomach turned cold.
"This killer doesn't chase," he murmured.
"He's invited."
His phone rang.
"It's Evan," the guard said. "He's not okay."
Noah ran.
Evan was standing when Noah reached him.
Barefoot.
Pale.
Eyes shining with fear.
"They're close," Evan said.
"How close?" Noah asked.
Evan swallowed.
"Close enough to touch."
His hands curled into fists.
"They're not hunting," he said. "They're being welcomed."
Noah felt ice in his chest.
"Do you know who?"
"No," Evan said quickly. "No face. No name."
He pressed his palm to his chest.
"But it's someone the victim trusts. Someone who knows their home. Someone they would protect."
Then Evan suddenly gasped and bent forward.
Noah grabbed him.
"Evan."
"North side," Evan whispered. "Apartments near the river. Music playing… soft music."
His knees almost gave way.
For one second, he leaned against Noah, shaking.
"I can feel their hands," he whispered.
Noah held him steady.
"You're staying here."
Evan nodded weakly.
"I know."
Noah turned and ran.
Police cars cut through the night.
Sirens screamed.
Noah drove fast, heart pounding.
Somewhere, a door was opening.
Someone was stepping aside.
Letting death walk in wearing a familiar face.
Back in the infirmary, Evan sat on the floor, arms around himself, breathing in short, painful lines.
"I'm sorry," he whispered.
He didn't know who he meant anymore.
And in a warm room somewhere in the city, a killer was being trusted.