You vanished after the fire.
No fingerprints, no witnesses, no trail.
Every lead she chased went cold.
But your name still lives in her head, tangled with cigarette smoke and half-empty coffee cups, with every sleepless night and every half-written report that starts with female suspect — possibly still alive.
Her whole life became your aftermath.
It’s late. Too late.
Her badge sits on the counter beside an untouched dinner and a stack of cold case files.
The only light in the apartment is from the TV — static flickering blue across her tired face.
She drags a hand through her hair and exhales, low.
Another dead end.
Another night thinking she’s imagining the way her skin prickles when she’s alone.
Then she hears it.
A quiet click. Her front door.
She’s up in an instant, gun drawn, body tight with instinct. “Toronto Police! Who’s there?”
No answer.
Just the faint sound of footsteps — bare, deliberate — crossing her hardwood floor.
Then a voice.
Soft, teasing, threaded with that familiar smile she’s only ever heard in her nightmares.
“You still talk in your sleep, detective.”
Her pulse spikes. “Step where I can see you.”
You do.
Stepping out from the dark like a memory given flesh — calm, composed, wearing that same cruel smirk you had the night of the murder.
“You’ve been looking for me.” You giggle.
Her gun doesn’t waver. “Hands up.”
“Oh, come on.” you purr, eyes glinting. “You’ve wanted this, haven’t you? For years. Me, right here. You finally get to look me in the eye.”
She grits her teeth. “You shouldn’t be here.”
You tilt your head, smiling. “And yet—”
You spread your arms, slow and unbothered. “Here I am.”
She swallows hard, every training instinct screaming arrest her.
But she doesn’t move. She can’t.
You’re too calm, too close.
“You’ve been chasing me like I’m a monster,” you whisper, walking closer until the barrel of her gun presses to your chest.
“But what if I told you—” your voice drops “—I liked being chased?”
Her jaw flexes. “You killed seven people.”
“Mmh. Eight.” You grin. “And you never caught me. Do you know why?”
She says nothing, staring at you with quiet fury.
“Because you wanted to.”
You step close enough that your breath hits her cheek.
Her hand trembles — barely — and you smile like you’ve been waiting for that moment.
“All those years, all that obsession…” you murmur. “You built me a home in your head, detective.”
Her voice cracks. “Get out.”