The little girl’s voice haunted him.
“My daddy gave me that bike…”
By midnight, rain hammered against the massive glass windows of his penthouse while old family photos covered his dining table.
Daniel Vale.
Smiling.
Laughing.
Alive.
Officially, Daniel had died in a boating accident three years earlier. No body was ever found, but the case had been closed quickly.
Too quickly.
Ethan suddenly realized something horrifying:
he had never actually seen proof of his brother’s death.
At 2:13 AM, his phone rang.
Unknown number.
He answered instantly.
Static.
Then—
a distorted male voice whispered:
“You should’ve left the girl alone.”
The line disconnected.
Ethan’s blood ran cold.
The next morning, he returned to Willow Street with no guards.
No driver.
Just questions.
But the little girl’s house was empty.
Front door open.
Furniture gone.
No sign of the mother or daughter.
Neighbors watched nervously from behind curtains.
Finally, an elderly woman approached him slowly.
“You’re too late,” she whispered.
Ethan’s stomach tightened.
“Where did they go?”
The woman hesitated.
Then handed him a photograph.
“They left this for you.”
Ethan looked down—
and nearly dropped it.
The photo showed Daniel alive.
Older. Bearded. Exhausted.
Standing beside the little girl.
But that wasn’t the worst part.
Scrawled across the back in black ink were five terrifying words:
HE WAS NEVER THE TARGET.
Ethan’s hands began shaking violently.
Because beneath the message…
was today’s date.
And suddenly—
a black van screeched around the corner straight toward him.
TIRES screaming.
Engine roaring.
People shouting.
Ethan looked up just in time to see masked men jumping out with guns—
—and one of them yelled:
“GET HIM BEFORE HE REMEMBERS EVERYTHING!”
CUT TO BLACK.
