Chapter 1 Echoes of the Pastz

Rain lashed against the windowpane, a relentless assault mirroring the storm brewing inside Luna.
A missing intern.
A sleazy reporter.
And a gnawing sense of familiarity that clung to the case like the damp chill in the air.
The anonymous tip had led her here, to her sterile office, the scent of stale coffee battling the metallic tang of impending trouble.
Grace, the missing girl, worked at the City Chronicle.
Last seen at The Rusty Mug, a dive Ethan frequented like a second home.
Ethan.
The name itself was a bitter taste on her tongue.
A notorious reporter, more famous for his scandalous affairs than his investigative journalism.
He’d been suspended for alleged misconduct, yet here he was, practically begging to collaborate.
“Certain evidence requires a journalist’s perspective, darling,” he’d purred over the phone, his voice slick as motor oil.
“A perspective like yours,” she’d countered, her voice glacial, “is precisely what landed you in hot water.” He’d just laughed, a low rumble that sent an unexpected shiver down her spine.
The Rusty Mug was a symphony of shadows and muffled conversations, the air thick with cigarette smoke and desperation.
Rain hammered on the corrugated iron roof, a chaotic rhythm to the scene.
Luna, all sharp angles and icy composure, sat across from Ethan, his usual swagger dampened, replaced by a restless energy that vibrated in the air between them.
He gestured to the flickering screen displaying the bar’s security footage.
“There. That’s Grace, an hour before she vanished.”
The grainy image showed the intern, a bright-eyed girl barely out of college, talking to a man obscured by shadows and a surgical mask.
Just a fleeting glimpse, but Luna’s gaze snagged on a detail – a metallic “M” emblazoned on the man’s phone case.
It resonated with something deep in her memory, a discordant note in the already unsettling melody of the night.
She leaned closer, her breath catching in her throat.
Suddenly, Ethan leaned in, his breath warm against her ear.
“You smell like gardenias,” he murmured, his voice surprisingly soft.
“Just like my sister used to.”
The words struck her like a physical blow.
The blood drained from her face, her hand instinctively flying to her neck, tracing the faint outline of a silver locket hidden beneath her collar.
It held a dried gardenia, the last gift from her missing sister.
Her phone slipped from her numb fingers, clattering onto the table.
As it fell, the screen flashed briefly, illuminating a cryptic file – her sister’s case, unsolved and agonizingly cold.
The silence stretched, punctuated only by the relentless drumming of the rain.
Luna stared at Ethan, her eyes wide and unreadable.
The casual mask he usually wore had slipped, revealing a flicker of something vulnerable, something raw.
He seemed oblivious to the effect his words had, his gaze fixed on the security footage, on the masked man and the missing girl.
He reached across the table, his fingers brushing hers, sending a jolt of electricity through her.
“The M,” he said, his voice rough.
“I know who he is.”
Luna swallowed, her throat suddenly dry.
“Tell me.”
He leaned in, closer this time, the scent of rain and something subtly dangerous clinging to him.
“His name,” Ethan whispered, his eyes locking with hers, “is Marcus.”
The warehouse loomed before them, a skeletal silhouette against the bruised sky.
The rain had eased to a sullen drizzle, leaving a slick sheen on the cracked asphalt.
The air hung heavy, saturated with the briny tang of the docks and a metallic undercurrent that pricked Luna’s senses.
She exchanged a tense glance with Ethan.
He looked pale, the bravado he usually wore like armor seemingly washed away by the relentless downpour.
“Ready?” she asked, her voice low.
Ethan swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing nervously.
“As I’ll ever be.”
The warehouse door groaned open, revealing a cavernous space choked with shadows.
Dust motes danced in the slivers of moonlight filtering through gaps in the corrugated iron roof.
The only sound was the rhythmic drip, drip, drip of water echoing in the oppressive silence.
It was a place where secrets festered, where hope came to die.
Luna, her senses on high alert, moved with the practiced grace of a predator.
Her flashlight beam cut through the darkness, revealing stacks of rotting crates, discarded machinery, and the ghosts of forgotten industry.
Ethan trailed behind her, his footsteps echoing eerily in the vast space.
Suddenly, Ethan stopped, a sharp intake of breath.
He pointed to a small, leather-bound notebook lying on a dusty crate.
“Grace’s,” he whispered, his voice choked with a mixture of relief and dread.
The notebook’s pages were filled with frantic scribbles, a chaotic jumble of words and symbols.
But one image dominated – the letter “M,” twisted and distorted into a grotesque parody of its former self.
It was repeated over and over, a visual manifestation of the girl’s terror.
On the last page, scrawled in shaky handwriting, was a chilling message: “He wants us all to go down with him.”
A wave of cold washed over Luna.
This wasn’t just a kidnapping.
This was a vendetta.
As they retraced their steps back to the car, the silence felt heavier, more ominous.
The city lights seemed to blur into an indistinguishable smear through the rain-streaked windows.
Luna’s hand tightened on the steering wheel, a knot of unease tightening in her stomach.
Something felt wrong.
Very wrong.
A pair of headlights appeared in her rearview mirror, too close, too persistent.
A black sedan, its windows tinted like a predator’s eyes, was tailing them.
Luna’s pulse quickened.
She pressed down on the accelerator, the engine roaring in response.
The sedan matched her speed, clinging to her like a shadow.
“Ethan,” she said, her voice tight, “hold on.”
She swerved sharply, the tires screeching in protest, and rammed the sedan.
The impact sent a jolt through the car.
The sedan spun out of control, momentarily illuminating the driver’s face in the glare of the headlights.
It was Marcus.
And in his hand, he held a gun, pointed not at her, but at something dangling from Ethan’s rearview mirror – his old police badge.
The sedan disappeared into the darkness, leaving Luna and Ethan in a stunned silence, the only sound the drumming of rain against the car roof.
Luna looked at Ethan, her eyes reflecting the fear that was slowly taking root in her own heart.
He just stared back, his face pale and drawn, his fingers tracing the outline of the badge.
“He remembers,” Ethan whispered, his voice barely audible above the rain.
“He remembers everything.”