The city was darker than usual, the rain slashing like knives against the windows. Another body had appeared, staged with a childhood toy clutched in one hand. Memories you had buried came crashing back—memories of her.

Beth Kane. Or Alice, depending on the mask she chose that night. You had always assumed she was gone, lost to the world after the crash that had taken your twin. But the murders, twisted and meticulous, screamed her presence.

You crouched beside the latest crime scene, tracing the pattern, heart hammering. Each victim mirrored a memory: the treehouse you built together, the schoolyard games, the first time she laughed at your terrible magic trick.

“She’s speaking to me through this,” you muttered, voice tight. “Not just killing… playing a game I have to solve.”

Your partner glanced at you, skeptical. “Or maybe she’s insane.”

“Maybe,” you said, jaw tight, eyes scanning the rain-darkened street. “But she’s my twin. And I know her.”

Hours passed, leads ran cold, and your mind wandered through childhood echoes. Every stolen laugh, every shared secret, every moment of love twisted into murder—it was her way of reaching out, or maybe punishing, or maybe reminding you who she was.

And somewhere in the shadowed alleys, you swore you saw a flash of red hair and a smirk you knew all too well. Beth Kane. Alive. And more dangerous than ever.