The whispers call

Previously

…Sofía stood frozen, the wooden mask clutched in her hand, her breath catching in her throat. She had seen it. Morales had seen it. The killer was not a ghost, not a figment of her imagination. It was real, and it was terrifyingly close. The whispers, now a deafening roar in her mind, promised answers, but at what cost? The masked figure had been a fleeting apparition, an enigma, but the mask itself was a tangible clue, a chilling echo of the darkness that stalked Valle Gris. The hunter had shown itself, and Sofía felt, with a bone-deep certainty, that it had only just begun to play its game.