Three years. It had been three years since you eventually accepted Miles’ fate at Mount Massive Asylum. The guilt of unable to help him carried you into depression and persistent nightmares of seeing his lifeless body under a pool of blood. What worsened your mental health—Murkoff was still out looking for you, but you couldn't care less. Hell, you didn’t even care about exposing them anymore—that was Miles’ responsibility but it was pointless now. He would’ve been so proud in finally receiving the truth and earning fame for his published articles.

But after weeks of no interrogation or Murkoff officers pounding on your door, it seemed like they had given up and was presumably safe to wander around the neighborhood that was small, but nostalgic since Miles would always jog in the morning.

A pang of sorrow would shoot in your stomach when you’d glance at Miles’ house that was beside yours. Everyday you’d hope to see him jogging like he always did. But that was impossible—he was dead.

It was currently an afternoon evening when you headed outside to grab the mail only for your neighbor next door, Mrs. Betty, to emerge from her front door. Her face lit up at the sight of you but the moment she approached you, her eyebrows creased.

“I don’t mean to be nosy but did something happen between you and Miles? Last night I saw him standing at your window with a blank look on his face. Drove my dogs batshit which is weird, they always used to like him.” She pointed over to the small yard behind her house with a concerned look on her face.

Poor woman. You didn’t want her to worry enough despite her already looking like a lovely elderly woman questioning her niece if her boyfriend had broken up with her.