I stepped inside the interrogation room, placing a glass of water in front of the real Mire—a blonde woman in her twenties. She was medium height, with two small moles near her lips. Her makeup streaked down her face, mingling with tears and dirt, giving her a ghostly appearance. Her frame was frail, her movements sluggish—signs of malnourishment. Whoever had kidnapped her clearly hadn’t bothered to keep her well.

  The room felt stifling, the weight of the case pressing down on us. Dead men rising and telling tales, doppelg?ngers appearing—it was chaos. And it was getting worse by the minute.

  “Mire Opra,” Jane said gently, her voice calm but firm. “Are you absolutely sure you don’t want a lawyer present?”

  She had scratches on her neck, likely inflicted during torture by the fake Mire. The poor woman must have endured unimaginable suffering.

  “N-no.” Mire’s voice cracked. She gripped the glass tightly, her hands trembling as she took a long sip. “Please… just catch the one who did this to me!”

  “We will,” Jane assured her, leaning forward with a kind but determined expression. “But for us to do that, you need to help us. Can you do that?”

  “Y-yes… anything…” she said, setting the empty glass down with shaky hands. “Thank you… thank you so much.”

  I crossed my arms, studying her closely. “When were you kidnapped?”

  “I… I don’t know. Days, maybe? I’ve lost all sense of time.” She buried her face in her hands for a moment before looking back up.

  “The woman who kidnapped you,” I pressed. “Do you know her?”

  “No!” Mire yelled, her voice breaking. “She’s insane! Must’ve thought I was rich or something! I was with Jacob, at my house. The doorbell rang, and I opened it, and—”

  “Take a deep breath,” Jane said, her tone soothing. “You’re safe now. Take your time.”

  Mire nodded, inhaling shakily. “It was just a day or two before… is it true? Is Jacob… is he really gone? Hanged like that?”

  “Yes,” I replied, my voice softer now. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

  “She did it,” Mire said, her voice trembling with anger. “She killed him. I know it!”

  A knock on the door interrupted us. I got up, opened it, and there stood Leo, escorting the supposed Mire—handcuffed and visibly seething.

  Normally, keeping two suspects in the same room was a hard no. But this case wasn’t normal, and I was desperate for answers. Without a word, I grabbed the doppelg?nger by the arm and ushered her into the room.

  The real Mire recoiled, her chair screeching against the floor as she pushed herself back. Jane’s eyebrow shot up, her expression a mix of confusion and anger. She didn’t have to say it—I knew this was breaking protocol. But I was out of patience.

  “This the woman who kidnapped you?” I asked, my voice sharp.

  “Yes!” Mire pointed, her finger trembling. “That’s her! That’s her!”

  “What?!” the supposed Mire shouted, her voice filled with rage. “I don’t even know you, you psycho! Who the hell are you, and what were you doing in my mother’s house?”

  “You… you monster!” Mire sneered, her eyes brimming with tears. “I hope you rot in prison!”

  The doppelg?nger glared at her, her voice rising in desperation. “She’s lying! She’s framing me! Check my ID—I am Mire Opra! I swear to God!”

  “You wanted Jacob all to yourself, didn’t you?” Mire spat, her voice thick with venom. “Why? Why him, of all people? He had cancer, for God’s sake! He was dying already, peacefully! Not with his head and heart split open!”

  Leo leaned in close, whispering into my ear. “We checked their IDs. Both of them are Mire Opra.”

  I stiffened. “What?” I whispered back. “How is that possible?”

  “Don’t ask me.” Leo shrugged helplessly. “Maybe someone hacked the system? I’m no tech guy.”

  “Hmm,” I mumbled. “Hey, did you find any of that miri plant in her house, the red-leafed one? There was a sample of it on the key, right?”

  “No,” Leo whispered. “She must’ve thrown it away.”

  Jane’s voice cut through in a sharp whisper, her anger barely contained. “What the hell are you doing, C? You don’t just throw suspects together like this!”

  “Sorry,” I muttered, nodding at Leo to take the doppelg?nger out. “Thought I’d speed things up.”

  “If she sues,” Jane snapped, her voice low but deadly, “you’re done.”

  “Let’s not give her that idea,” I replied under my breath, watching as Leo led the doppelg?nger out of the room.

  I shut the door behind them, the sound echoing through the tense silence. Jane shot me a glare, her lips pressed into a tight line. I sighed, rubbing my temples. This case was spiraling out of control, and I had no idea how to stop it.

  “I can handle her.” Jane said. “But I don’t trust Leo with the suspect. He is… well, dumb. Can you help him?”

  “You’re right…” I said opening the door again.

  I shut the door behind me, my boots echoing softly against the tiled floor as I walked down the corridor. Leo and the supposed “Mire” were already in the second interrogation room. Normally, I wasn’t one to toss the rulebook out the window, but something about this case had me unraveling. A dead man walking, a doppelg?nger, and more lies than I could untangle—it was all getting to me.

  I opened the door and stepped inside. Leo had just finished unlocking the cuffs on “Mire” and was now leaning back in his chair, studying her intently. She sat rigidly, her arms crossed, shooting wary glances between us. I positioned myself near the door, arms folded, watching and waiting as Leo began.

  “What’s your name?” he asked, his tone steady.

  “Mire. Mire Opra!” she shot back, her voice laced with desperation.

  “Your real name,” Leo pressed, his eyes narrowing slightly.

  “I swear it’s Mire!”

  “Your neighbors don’t know you,” I interjected, stepping closer. “And I checked Jacob’s old RV. Guess what? He had a photo of the real blonde Mire.”

  Her face twisted in frustration. “The RV!” she exclaimed, her voice rising. “Yes, yes, the RV! It only opens in a specific way. You have to hold the door up while unlocking it. I know this because I’ve been there! I was Jacob’s girlfriend, for fuck’s sake! Why won’t you believe me?”

  Leo tilted his head slightly, considering her. “The other Mire know about that?”

  “I guess I’ll find out,” I muttered, turning on my heel and leaving the room.

  I made my way to the other interrogation room, the weight of the case pressing harder with every step. Opening the door, I found Jane seated at the table, while the blonde Mire sat across from her, her face buried in her hands, tears streaking her cheeks.

  Jane glanced up at me, but I didn’t say a word. Instead, I walked to the chair, gripping its back with both hands, leaning into it as I studied Mire.

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  “You’ve been in Jacob’s RV, right?” I asked, my tone sharp but steady. “He was your boyfriend, after all.”

  “Of course,” she replied, her voice shaky. “In Tidbit. Why?”

  “We couldn’t get the door to open,” I lied. “You know how to get inside?”

  “The key didn’t work?” she asked, confused.

  “It fit, but the door wouldn’t budge.”

  “Oh…” she muttered, trailing off. “I don’t know. Maybe… try the windows?”

  My eyes narrowed slightly as I straightened. She didn’t know how the door opened? That RV had her picture and personal items inside, yet she couldn’t explain something as basic as getting in. My gaze dropped to the floor, my mind spinning..

  “Got it,” I said finally, breaking the silence. “Where do you live, by the way?”

  “Here, in Kiruha,” she said. “Kenli.”

  “Exact address?” I pressed. “We need to figure out how that woman got to you.”

  “It’s close to Golden Cats. Keep the sign on your left and walk straight ahead. The third ship is mine.”

  “Okay,” I said with a nod. “Thanks… Jane, can we talk?”

  “Sure,” she said, pushing her chair back and standing.

  We stepped outside and moved far enough down the corridor that Mire wouldn’t hear us. I leaned against the wall and explained how she couldn’t tell me how the RV door worked.

  “So?” Jane said, her brows knitting together. “Maybe the fake Mire broke the door intentionally, so the real one wouldn’t know how it opened?”

  “I don’t know,” I admitted. “Real one? Who’s the real one?”

  Jane huffed, crossing her arms. “The one in the picture, dumbass. And the videos.”

  I sighed, running a hand down my face. “The bigger problem is Jacob. Where the hell is he? How’d he fake his death? And why?”

  “Yeah…”

  "FaceUp 2.0?" I said. "There is only one FaceUp 2.0 device in West Antapolis. He might have used it on someone else... and got them killed?"

  "FaceUp 2.0 works only on those who are related by blood," Jane said, shaking her head. "Jacob only has his brother, Robert. And last time we checked, Robert was still alive."

  "I don't know," I said, sighing. "This is all so complicated."

  FaceUp 2.0, the newly developed technology, allowed individuals bound by blood to swap faces. Still in its infancy, the machine required identical DNA matches to function. Its limitations were strict—siblings, twins, and parent-child pairs could use it, but in some rare cases, more distant relatives, like cousins or nephews, might also be able to make it work.

  Jane was right, though. Jacob only had his brother. No other siblings, no children, no surviving parents. So, how could this work? How could someone else have his face?

  “Yeah,” Jane muttered. She hesitated, then added, “You heading to Mire’s place?”

  “Yep. Gonna see if there’s anything useful there.”

  “Alright,” she said, her tone softening slightly. “Be careful.”

  I nodded once, not trusting myself to say more, and started down the hall.

  —

  This city was a monster. Those guys I met in Tidbit were right. It was a loop. We could take down every criminal lurking in its shadows, but new ones would always emerge, more vicious and desperate than the last. The cycle never ended—innocents killed, power abused, justice twisted. Someone above us pulled the strings, and it wasn’t God. No, it was something worse.

  It was the city itself. West Antapolis. A labyrinth of decay and despair. The city of lost souls and losers.

  I pulled up in front of the ship and parked. The house was in decent shape for this part of town. The deck was converted into a modest garden, though the wood was rotting in places, and the door didn’t look sturdy enough to withstand even a weak shove. A perfect place for someone trying to disappear.

  The vibration of my phone interrupted my thoughts. I pulled it out and answered.

  “Jane?”

  “Hey,” she said. “We’ve locked up the fake Mire. The real one’s staying with a friend for now, under guard. Just in case.”

  “Hmm,” I muttered, checking the door. Locked, of course. “How was she?”

  “Shaken but holding up,” Jane said. “I also asked her about the RV door. She said it wasn’t broken.”

  “Figures.”

  “By the way,” she continued, “we’ve connected Jacob Dun to the other victims. The last two worked at the same school. Teachers. Jacob was the security guard, as we already know.”

  “Oh,” I said. “He was a—”

  A cold barrel pressed against the back of my head. My breath caught, and I froze.

  “Don’t move,” a low voice ordered.

  The gun nudged me forward, my forehead brushing against the wooden door. I felt a tap on the back of my phone, a clear warning not to tip Jane off.

  “I gotta go,” I said into the phone, keeping my voice steady.

  “Why?” Jane asked.

  “Toilet break. Call you later.”

  “Wai—”

  I ended the call before she could finish, and the stranger snatched my phone. I heard the scrape of a key sliding into the lock. The door creaked open, and I was shoved inside. My hands stayed at my sides, my body tense.

  “Where is she?” the voice demanded. “Who are you?”

  “Preternatural Affairs,” I replied. “Who are you?”

  “Preternatural Affairs,” he sneered. “Shit.”

  “You’re Jacob Dun,” I said, keeping my back to him. “How are you still alive?”

  “I’m dead,” he replied coolly. “But the dead have the best stories. Want to hear one, cop?”

  “I’m all ears.”

  “But I’ll have to shoot you afterward,” he said, the barrel pressing harder. “Fair deal?”

  “Fair enough.”

  “Are you sure? I sense no fear in your voice, cop.”

  “Yeah. You were a security guard in that orphanage, right?”

  “Okay—okay.” He chuckled. “Yeah. I was a security guard,” he began, his tone detached. “At a school. It was quiet, peaceful. I liked it. Then my brother’s kid got sick. Needed a heart. A child’s heart.”

  I didn’t say a word, letting him continue.

  “I found one,” he said flatly. “Got it for him. Then I realized there was money in it.”

  “You stole organs?” I asked.

  “All from orphans,” he said without hesitation. “No one missed them. No one.”

  My stomach churned, but I kept my face neutral. He was telling the story as if it meant nothing to him.

  “Then I went too far,” he admitted. “Way, way too far.”

  “What did you do?”

  “I won’t tell… I can’t.”

  “Okay.” I nodded. “Then what happened?”

  “Then we got caught. But we paid off the cops. Authorities. No headlines, no investigations. Clean slate.”

  He paused, exhaling sharply.

  “And then I met Mire,” he said, his voice softening. “A nun. She… she saved me. Made me believe I could change.”

  "Why were those two killed?" I asked. "They were involved, too. Right?"

  "Yes," he said. "This was a whole operation. Everyone from the school was involved. We even killed a kid's father so that when the kid went missing, he wouldn't alert the cops. We were thorough. We were smart. We were rich."

  "Smart, huh?"

  "You think I'm not?" he countered. "You're at the end of my barrel. Choose your words carefully."

  “How did you fake your death?”

  “FaceUp,” he said simply.

  “Your brother is alive,” I said. “You’re lying.”

  “He is,” Jacob said, “but his son? Tell me about him.”

  Slowly, I turned to face him. There he stood—Jacob Dun. Alive. Flesh and blood. The gun in his hand glinted under the weak light, the barrel cold against my forehead.

  “You…”

  "I told him I'd give him a lot of money if he pretended to be me for a week," he said. "And he agreed."

  "You suspect someone was out to get you?"

  "Those two idiots I worked with died," he said. "I knew it was my turn. So I hid. And—let Jamey die."

  “You’re sick.”

  “I am. Maybe I’m not. Either way, that’s it for the story,” he said, his finger tightening on the trigger. “Goodnight, cop.”

  “You won’t get awa—”

  “Nah. I think I will.”

  The shot rang out.

  I dropped, lifeless, to the floor. Blood and brain matter painted the dull walls, my thoughts dissolving into the void. West Antapolis faded to black.

  “Conticent,” a voice echoed in the distance. Faint. Familiar.

  “Melissa?”

  “C,” she whispered, her tone mournful. “I miss you.”

  “C,” another voice echoed, this one cold and harsh. “It is successful. We did it.”

  “C.”

  “C.”

  “C!”

  “Wake up.”