The clues beneath skin

..._Chapter 3: The clues beneath skin_...

...(The Writer) 🎀...

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...•...

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...📍Location: Camden Town, London...

...---...

...The rain hasn’t stopped all night....

...It taps like fingers on my windowpane....

...Soft. Repetitive. Almost thoughtful —...

...as if even the weather wants to know what the hell that video was....

...I sit on the edge of my bed, a blanket draped over my shoulders, and my laptop is still open beside me....

...The USB now lies at the bottom of my drawer, wrapped in a scarf like it might bite if touched again....

...“You’re not imagining it.”...

...“Play me.”...

...“I’ll be waiting.”...

...His words coil inside me like smoke....

...He knows me....

...Knows her — the dead girl in my novel....

...I Know things I haven’t told anyone....

...But how?...

...---...

...The next morning, I walked through the drizzle-soaked streets of Camden Town....

...Black coat. Black boots. A scarf covering half my face....

...Like a cliché thriller heroine — except I’m real, and I’m terrified....

...People pass....

...Umbrellas bump....

...London breathes like it’s trying to keep my secret....

...I duck into Milo’s Café, a small place near the publishing house....

...The usual morning buzz surrounds me — warm croissants, espresso shots, indie music humming low....

...“Hey, you're alive.”...

...That’s Rue, my best friend and fellow novelist....

...She writes fantasy and has zero patience for my murder obsession....

...“You look like someone crawled into your dreams and refused to leave.”...

...I give a hollow smile....

...“You have no idea.”...

...Rue sips her oat latte and narrows her eyes....

...“Still working on that creepy dead-girl novel?”...

...I nod....

...“Almost done.” (I lied to her)...

...Truth: It’s writing itself now....

...---...

...Back at the office, my editor Jameson is waiting —...

...a no-nonsense man in his 40s with perfect suits and terrible coffee habits....

...He eyes me as I step in....

...“You’re late.”...

...Then he pauses....

...“You okay?”...

...I hesitate....

...Do I tell him about the USB?...

...The video?...

...The man who called himself a ghost still alive?...

...No....

...Not yet....

...Instead, I say, “Just tired. Couldn’t sleep.”...

...He grunts and slides over a file....

...“I pulled some police reports on that missing girl your book’s about. Figured it’d help with realism.”...

...I freeze....

...“What reports?”...

...He shrugs. “Old ones. Never released to the public.”...

...“Got a friend in the archives. Tell him you’re a lunatic crime writer.”...

...My fingers tighten around the file....

...Inside: Photos. Handwritten notes....

...And a single image that turns my blood cold....

...The girl I’m writing about....

...Same eyes. Same necklace. Same alley....

...But this photo…...

...Was taken three days after she was declared missing....

...She wasn’t dead....

...Not then....

...---...

...(The Shadow) ♣️💜...

...Meanwhile…...

...in an underground room beneath a nondescript antique shop in East London,...

...The Shadow watches her on screen again....

...Not yesterday’s footage — live....

...He sees her freeze in the photo....

...See her lips parted in disbelief....

...See her beginning to unravel....

...“You’re getting closer,” He mutters, voice low, eyes like frost....

...“Too close.”...

...He looks over his shoulder....

...A woman with platinum hair sits nearby, legs up on the desk, hacking through police archives like it’s a video game....

...Her: “You sure she’s worth all this attention, boss?”...

...The Shadow: “She’s not our attention.”...

...“She’s a trigger. And once she pulls—”...

...“Everyone burns.”...

...---...

...(Abellona's PoV) 🌼...

...That night, I return home....

...The rain’s worse now — London drowning in secrets....

...But the real storm is inside me....

...I toss my coat aside....

...Sit down....

...Reach for my pen....

...And I feel something sharp beneath in my notebook....

...A knife....

...Small. Surgical. Precise....

...With a note beneath it, written in the same neat handwriting as before:...

..."Not all blades are meant to cut....

...Some are meant to mark....

...Look beneath."...

...I lift the notebook....

...Under it —...

...a second photo....

...Of ME....

...Asleep....

...Last night....

...---...

...End of Chapter 3 🖤...

What do you think is going to happen with her? Is she in danger? Who is going to save her from the stalker? What does she know that puts her in danger? What does the stalker want from her? Why is he stalking her? Are you curious to know? Me too... I also don't know what's going on with her but I know one thing is Abellona Rushell is a smart and intelligent woman. I haven't finished this short novel yet, I'm still writing..😅

Hey Guyz!!! ❤️

I hope you will enjoy this chapter too and please don't forget to comment and like it because it's important for me to know where I made the mistakes and what you like and which part you enjoyed the most... Your support and love are everything for me....So be safe and happy....💗

Love you readers...🫰🏻

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