The knock on the wall had stopped.
But it left something behind.
A feeling. A presence.
Like a breath on the back of Rafael's neck.
He turned slowly toward the sound, heart thudding in controlled rhythm.
He moved to the wall—the one separating his apartment from the empty unit next door.
Or… was it still empty?
He pressed his palm against the drywall.
Nothing.
Maybe he was imagining it.
Maybe the waiting had gone on too long.
He was about to step away—when his phone buzzed.
No caller ID.
No ringtone. Just a blank, vibrating notification.
He answered. Didn't speak.
But someone on the other end… did.
"You're not the only one who remembers what they did."
The voice was male. Calm. Familiar.
"Marco?" Rafael said softly.
A pause. Then:
"No. He's too far gone. Still lying to himself."
Rafael's pulse spiked. The voice… it wasn't Tyson.
It wasn't Jude. It wasn't Marco.
But it knew them all.
"Who is this?"
"The one who stayed invisible. Because I had to. Because I was scared. But not anymore."
Rafael stepped back toward the window. Eyes scanning the street.
"Where are you?"
"Watching," the voice said.
"You think Tyson is your final piece. He's not."
"He didn't plan what happened to you."
Silence.
Then—words that shattered Rafael's composure:
"You're hunting the wrong monster."
A Shift
Everything in Rafael's world tilted slightly. The walls. The names. The timelines.
"Then who?" he asked, gripping the phone.
The voice didn't answer.
Just a click.
Then nothing.
But a moment later, a photo arrived.
One Rafael had never seen before.
It was from the night of the "accident."
A hallway camera, grainy.
Tyson and Marco were visible—laughing, pushing Eli.
But behind them…
Half-shadowed…
Was someone else.
And Rafael knew that silhouette.
He'd trusted it once.
Jude.
The Realization
Rafael stared at the image, jaw tight.
Jude.
The quiet one.
The one who always avoided eye contact.
The one who played peacemaker.
The one who never got his hands dirty.
Because maybe…
He didn't have to.
Because maybe… he orchestrated it all.
And now Rafael knew:
"Tyson's not the mind.
Just the muscle."
The locker room hadn't changed.
Same cracked tiles.
Same rusted benches.
Same faint scent of bleach, sweat, and memory.
Rafael stood at the threshold, unmoving. The door behind him creaked shut slowly, as if the building itself were trying to trap him inside.
No voices.
No footsteps.
No Tyson.
Only silence.
And yet, Rafael didn't feel alone.
The Lights
Fluorescents buzzed above him. Two flickered. One was out completely.
He stepped forward, each footfall echoing too loud in the space that once echoed with team chants and celebration.
"This is where Eli bled."
His fingers brushed the edge of the locker marked #7—Eli's number.
It was dented.
Scratched.
But it was open.
Inside, taped to the inside of the door, was an envelope.
No name.
Just one word, in thin red ink:
"Finally."
The Letter
He opened it.
No photos. No flash drives.
Just a single sheet of paper. Handwritten. Careful strokes.
It read:
"Tyson was never supposed to push you that far."
"Marco was never supposed to let you bleed."
"But someone had to show the world that even golden boys crack."
"You were too good, Eli. Too beloved. Too pure."
"And purity makes people like me invisible."
"Do you remember the final training match? When Coach put you on the bench, for the first time in months?"
"He thought it was his decision."
"It wasn't."
There was a pause in the writing—like whoever penned it had stopped to consider the gravity of their next words.
"I told them what to do."
"I told them how far they could go."
"I told them you'd get up."
"You didn't."
"And now… you're back. Aren't you?"
"We all feel it. In your eyes. Your voice. Your rage."
"But here's the thing, Eli—"
"Revenge doesn't free you."
"It makes you one of us."
At the bottom of the page:
"—Jude."
The Realization
Rafael didn't breathe.
Not for a full minute.
He stood in that locker room, surrounded by ghosts, and realized…
He was never the only mastermind.
Tyson was the fist.
Marco was the coward.
But Jude was the whisper in their ears.
And now, Jude was ahead of him again.
Final Lines
He folded the letter carefully.
Then he looked up at the mirror above the sinks—old, streaked, cracked.
And in it… was a message written in condensation, as if someone had just been standing there.
Three words:
"You're too late."
Rafael barely slept.
The letter burned in his jacket pocket.
The mirror's message—"You're too late"—played on repeat in his mind like a countdown.
But dawn hadn't come yet.
And when it finally did…
His phone buzzed again.
Unknown Number.
No hesitation.
He answered.
Silence.
Then… a chuckle.
"You're still chasing ghosts," the voice said.
"But this time, the ghost is watching you."
Rafael stood still, fist clenching.
"Jude."
"There it is," Jude said calmly. "That edge in your voice. That's not Rafael talking. That's him. The dead boy with a chip on his soul."
"You killed him."
"No. I shaped him. I gave Eli Santana a myth."
A pause.
"But now… I want to see what the myth does when it has nothing left to lose."
The Threat
Rafael's voice was low. Controlled. Dangerous.
"What do you want?"
"I want to show you what happens when you don't finish the story."
"You think I won't?"
"I think you're still pretending you're better than me."
A file arrived via message. Encrypted. Rafael opened it.
It was a video.
A girl—no older than sixteen—standing in front of her school locker.
Blurry, fast.
But the face… familiar.
It was Anna, Coach Ramirez's daughter.
A kid.
Too innocent to be caught in this war.
"Leave her out of this."
"Eli should've stayed dead," Jude replied coldly.
"But now that he's wearing your skin, I want to see how far he'll go."
The Promise
"You're a coward," Rafael said.
"You hide behind people, behind other hands. You never got yours dirty."
"And yet," Jude said softly, "I'm the one still breathing."
"Not for long."
Jude laughed. Not cruel. Not hysterical.
Almost sad.
"Funny thing about revenge, Rafael… the closer you get to it, the more you become the thing you swore to destroy."
"We'll see," Rafael replied. "But when I come for you… it won't be quick."
"Good," Jude said. "Because neither was Eli's death."
The line went dead.
Final Image
Rafael stood in the center of his apartment.
Rain began to tap the window like fingers.
He looked down at the phone in his hand.
And whispered:
"You made a mistake, Jude.
You made me remember what it felt like to die.