I leaned my back against the cold brick wall and let my body sink.
The alley was silent now, the train long gone, its roar replaced by distant sirens and the slow drip of water from broken pipes. My coat was still wet, my muscles still shaking, but exhaustion finally won. For the first time in hours, I closed my eyes.
And the city disappeared.
Rain fell softly.
It always rained when Eva appeared.
She stood beneath a flickering streetlight, the same one from years ago, her black coat soaked, dark hair clinging to her face. She looked exactly as she had the last night I saw her.
Except her eyes.
They carried something heavy now. Something broken.
"You're late, Ryan," she said.
Her voice was calm, but tired. The kind of tired that comes from carrying too many secrets alone.
"I've been looking for you," I whispered.
She smiled—barely.
"I know."
The world shifted.
The streetlight faded, replaced by a small apartment. Dim. Claustrophobic. A single lamp burned on the table. Eva sat there, hands wrapped around a cup of coffee she never drank.
"I found something," she said. "Something that could destroy them."
"Who?" I asked.
She looked up at me, fear flashing across her face for the first time.
"Everyone."
The walls began to shake. Shadows moved behind the curtains. Phones rang without sound. Footsteps echoed in the hall.
"They knew I was close," Eva continued. "Marcus… he wasn't the end. He was the door."
I saw it then.
Men breaking in. Masks. Silence. Precision.
Eva running through corridors, bleeding from her arm, clutching a phone. She hid in a stairwell, shaking, typing a number with trembling fingers—my number.
But she never pressed send.
A hand grabbed her from behind.
Darkness swallowed her scream.
I gasped and woke up.
My eyes snapped open, heart pounding, breath sharp in my chest. The alley was back. Cold. Real. Empty.
Eva was gone.
But her voice lingered in my skull like a ghost that refused to leave.
Marcus wasn't the end. He was the door.
I pushed myself up slowly, my body aching, my mind on fire. The city lights reflected in puddles like broken memories.
Dock 17.
Whatever waited there had started with her.
I checked my pistol. One deep breath. One final thought.
"Tonight," I muttered, stepping into the rain,
"the past stops running."
And I walked toward Dock 17.