Didn’t stop.
By the time he reached the building, his hands were shaking so violently he could barely open the door.
“Stay here,” he told Lucy—but she was already following.
The stairwell was narrow. Dim. Silent.
Second floor.
Door at the end of the hall.
Half-open.
Daniel pushed it slowly.
“…Elena?”
No answer.
The apartment was small. Bare. Temporary.
Like someone had never planned to stay.
The curtain still moved in the breeze from the open window.
But she was gone.
“No…” Daniel whispered, stepping inside. “No, no, no…”
Then—
a sound.
Behind him.
Lucy.
She was staring at something on the table.
A photograph.
Daniel turned.
His blood went cold.
It was a picture of Elena.
But not the one he carried.
This one was recent.
Elena… holding Lucy.
Smiling.
Alive.
And on the back, written in shaky handwriting:
“If he finds you… run.”
Daniel’s stomach dropped.
“Lucy…” he said slowly. “Where is your mother now?”
The girl didn’t answer.
She was looking at the door.
Fear in her eyes.
Not confusion this time.
Memory.
“She said we can’t stay when he gets close,” Lucy whispered.
Daniel’s heart pounded.
“Who?” he asked.
But before she could answer—
FOOTSTEPS echoed from the stairwell.
Heavy.
Slow.
Deliberate.
Not Elena.
Lucy grabbed Daniel’s hand.
“We have to go,” she said urgently.
“Now.”
Daniel looked back at the photograph.
Then at the door.
Then at the girl.
And in that moment, one terrifying truth became clear:
Elena hadn’t disappeared.
She had been hiding.
And whatever she was hiding from—
had just found them.
