Chapter 3

The handle turned again.

Maya stood in the middle of her living room, clutching the piece of paper she had found beneath the door. Her heart was beating so loudly that she could barely hear the rain outside.

HE KNOWS YOU ARE NOT MAYA.

Six words. Six words that had turned her entire life into a question.

The handle stopped moving.

“Ms. Cole,” Detective Hayes called from the other side. “I know you're in there.”

Maya forced herself to breathe.

“If you're really Detective Hayes, tell me something only you would know.”

Silence followed.

Then he answered, “Your mother's name was Margaret. She died when you were nineteen. You told me you never got to say goodbye.”

Maya's fingers tightened around the paper.

It was true. She had told the detective that during their first interview.

But it didn't prove the person outside was him.

“Why did you sign my adoption papers?” she asked.

The hallway fell silent.

Maya stepped closer to the door.

“I found the document, Detective. I saw your signature. So tell me why.”

A long pause followed.

“You need to open this door.”

“Answer me first.”

“I can't explain everything through a locked door.”

“Then start with one thing. Who is Elena Ward?”

For the first time, the man outside sounded uncertain.

“Where did you hear that name?”

Maya closed her eyes.

She had her answer.

He knew.

Before she could speak again, a second voice came from the hallway.

“Detective?” a woman called. “Are you all right?”

Maya stepped back.

She had heard that voice before.

It belonged to Celeste Ward, her best friend.

But Celeste had told Maya she was visiting her parents in another city. She had sent photographs from the trip only that afternoon.

Why was she standing outside Maya's apartment in the middle of the night?

“Celeste?” Maya called.

Neither person answered.

She rushed to the peephole.

This time, she saw them.

Detective Hayes stood directly in front of her door, wearing a dark coat. Beside him was Celeste, her face pale and her eyes fixed on the floor.

Celeste looked up suddenly, straight into the peephole.

“Maya,” she whispered, “don't let him in.”

Hayes turned toward her.

“What did you say?”

Celeste stepped away from him.

“I said we should wait for backup.”

“No,” Hayes replied. “You said something else.”

Maya watched as Celeste reached into her coat pocket and pulled out a small silver key.

She held it up for the detective to see.

“I know what happened to the girl,” she said.

Hayes went completely still.

Maya's mouth fell open.

“What girl?” she whispered to herself.

Celeste looked toward the apartment door.

“The girl who disappeared seven years ago.”

Hayes grabbed her wrist.

“You don't know what you're talking about.”

“Then why are you afraid?”

For several seconds, neither moved.

Then the lights in the hallway went out.

Maya heard a sharp crash, followed by footsteps running toward the stairwell.

She waited, unable to move, until the emergency lights flickered on.

Through the peephole, the hallway appeared empty.

Both of them were gone.

Maya immediately called the police emergency number and reported what she had seen. She gave her address, described the two people, and asked for officers to come to her apartment.

While she waited, she returned to the laptop.

The adoption document was still open.

This time, she examined the bottom of the page more carefully. Beside Hayes's signature was a second signature, almost completely hidden beneath a dark mark.

She adjusted the screen brightness and enlarged the image.

The name became clearer.

Celeste Ward.

Maya stared at it in disbelief.

Her best friend had witnessed the adoption.

Seven years ago.

But Maya had known Celeste for only six years.

She checked the date printed at the top of the document.

April 21, 2019.

The same date as Elena Ward's disappearance.

A notification appeared on the laptop.

A new email had arrived.

The sender's name was simply: Elena.

Maya opened it with shaking hands.

There was no attachment this time. Only a short message.

“Don't trust Celeste. She remembers everything.”

Maya read it again.

Then she noticed the timestamp.

The email had been sent seven years earlier.

Her phone rang.

An unknown number.

Maya answered without speaking.

A young woman's voice came through, quiet and familiar.

“Maya?”

Maya's knees nearly gave way.

“Elena?”

“Listen carefully. You have to find the room beneath the old train station.”

“What room? Where are you?”

“I can't tell you that yet.”

“Why did the police say you don't exist?”

A pause.

Then Elena whispered, “Because one of us was never supposed to come home.”

The call ended.

Maya stood frozen, staring at the phone.

Outside, the rain had finally stopped.

Across the city, the old train station's clock struck one.

And somewhere beneath its abandoned platforms, a door that had remained locked for seven years slowly opened.