At 3:16 in the morning, Daniel Vale was still awake.

The apartment was silent except for the faint ticking of the clock above his desk and the occasional sound of traffic far below his window.

He had been staring at the same document for almost an hour.

On his screen was a photograph of a dead man.

Jonathan Reed.

Ten years earlier, Jonathan had been one of the most promising investigative journalists in the city. He had written about corruption, missing government funds and people who disappeared after asking the wrong questions.

Then, one rainy night in October, Jonathan had vanished.

Three days later, his body had been found beside the old railway bridge.

The police called it a robbery.

Daniel had never believed that explanation.

He was thirty-two now, but he remembered Jonathan clearly.

Not because they had been close.

They hadn’t.

They had only met twice.

But Jonathan had once given Daniel a piece of advice that had stayed with him.

“Never believe the first story you’re given.”

Daniel looked at the photograph again.

There was something strange about it.

The photograph had been taken shortly before Jonathan’s death.

Jonathan was standing outside the old courthouse.

Behind him was a black car.

Daniel had enlarged the image several times.

The driver was impossible to identify.

But there was something else.

A reflection in the courthouse window.

A person standing across the street.

Daniel leaned closer to the screen.

He couldn’t see the face.

Only the outline.

A man.

Tall.

Wearing a dark coat.

Daniel reached for his phone.

Then the clock changed.

3:17 AM.

His phone rang.

Daniel froze.

The sound was so sudden that his hand knocked over the glass beside his laptop.

Water spilled across the desk.

The phone continued ringing.

Once.

Twice.

Three times.

Daniel stared at the screen.

There was no number.

No name.

Just one word.

UNKNOWN.

He almost ignored it.

Almost.

Then something inside him made him answer.

“Hello?”

For several seconds, there was nothing.

Not even breathing.

Daniel looked toward the window.

The curtains were closed.

“Hello?”

A faint crackle came through the speaker.

Then a man’s voice.

“Daniel.”

Daniel’s stomach tightened.

He didn’t recognize the voice.

“Who is this?”

The man didn’t answer.

Instead, he said,

“You shouldn’t be looking at Jonathan Reed.”

Daniel stood up.

His chair rolled backward.

“How do you know what I’m doing?”

Silence.

Daniel’s eyes moved around the apartment.

“Who are you?”

The voice became quieter.

“You were always too curious.”

Daniel stopped breathing.

Those words.

That sentence.

He had heard it before.

Ten years ago.

Jonathan Reed had said exactly the same thing to him.

Daniel remembered the conversation.

They had been standing outside a coffee shop.

Jonathan had handed him a folder.

“You’re going to get yourself killed one day,” Jonathan had said.

Daniel had laughed.

Jonathan hadn’t.

“You’re always too curious.”

The memory disappeared as quickly as it had arrived.

Daniel gripped the phone.

“Who are you?”

This time the man answered.

“My name is Jonathan.”

Daniel’s face went cold.

The photograph on his computer seemed suddenly brighter.

“No.”

“Daniel.”

“No.”

“You know who I am.”

“You’re dead.”

A long pause.

Then a quiet laugh.

“I know.”

Daniel slowly sat down.

The voice continued.

“I’ve been dead for ten years.”

Daniel looked at the photograph again.

Jonathan Reed.

Dead.

Ten years.

The voice on the phone sounded calm.

Almost tired.

“Whoever you are, this isn’t funny.”

“I know.”

“You’ve got five seconds to tell me who you are before I call the police.”

“You won’t.”

“Try me.”

“Five.”

Daniel frowned.

“Four.”

“What?”

“Three.”

The voice continued counting.

“Two.”

Daniel suddenly heard something behind him.

A soft sound.

Like a door opening.

He turned.

Nothing.

His bedroom door was closed.

“One.”

The call ended.

Daniel stared at the phone.

His heart was beating violently.

For several seconds, he couldn’t move.

Then he stood and checked the apartment.

Kitchen.

Empty.

Bathroom.

Empty.

Bedroom.

Empty.

He checked the front door.

Still locked.

The chain was still attached.

No one had entered.

Daniel returned to his desk.

The call history showed nothing.

No unknown number.

No missed call.

Nothing.

He opened the recording application on his phone.

There was no recording.

Daniel stared at the screen.

Maybe he had imagined it.

Lack of sleep.

Stress.

Too much coffee.

He had been investigating Jonathan Reed for weeks.

Maybe his mind had finally begun creating things that weren’t there.

He laughed nervously.

“I’m losing it.”

Then his computer screen went black.

Daniel froze.

The apartment lights were still on.

His laptop had simply shut down.

He pressed the power button.

Nothing.

He pressed it again.

Nothing.

Then his phone vibrated.

A message appeared.

CHECK THE DRAWER.

Daniel didn’t move.

Another message appeared.

THE LEFT ONE.

He slowly looked at the desk.

There were three drawers.

The left one contained old documents.

Receipts.

Pens.

A few notebooks.

Nothing important.

Daniel opened it.

At first, he saw nothing unusual.

Then he noticed a small brown envelope underneath a stack of papers.

He pulled it out.

There was no name on it.

Only a date.

October 14.

Daniel’s hands began shaking.

October 14 was the date Jonathan Reed disappeared.

He opened the envelope.

Inside was a photograph.

Daniel removed it.

For several seconds, he couldn’t understand what he was looking at.

Then his breathing stopped.

It was a photograph of Jonathan Reed.

Jonathan was sitting at a table.

Across from him was another man.

Daniel.

A younger Daniel.

The photograph had been taken ten years earlier.

Daniel stared at himself.

He couldn’t remember the meeting.

He couldn’t remember the room.

He couldn’t remember the photograph.

On the back, someone had written a sentence.

Daniel turned it over.

Seven words.

You promised you would never remember.

Daniel dropped the photograph.

His phone rang again.

3:17 AM.

Daniel looked at the clock.

It was still 3:17.

He answered.

Neither man spoke.

Daniel’s voice trembled.

“What did you do to me?”

Jonathan finally replied.

“Nothing.”

“Then why don’t I remember?”

“You weren’t supposed to.”

“Who took my memory?”

Jonathan was silent.

Then he said something that made Daniel’s blood run cold.

“You did.”

The call ended.

Daniel stood motionless.

Outside, the city continued sleeping.

Cars moved along distant roads.

A dog barked somewhere in the darkness.

Everything looked normal.

But Daniel knew something had changed.

He picked up the photograph again.

There he was.

Twenty-two years old.

Sitting across from a man who had supposedly been murdered that same year.

Jonathan was looking directly into the camera.

Daniel was not.

He was looking at something behind Jonathan.

Something outside the frame.

Daniel zoomed in.

His eyes widened.

There was a reflection in the window behind Jonathan.

A third person.

A tall man wearing a dark coat.

The same figure from the courthouse photograph.

Daniel leaned closer.

The reflection became clearer.

The man’s face was still hidden.

But his hand was visible.

He was holding a telephone.

Daniel’s phone vibrated.

One final message appeared.

DON’T ANSWER TOMORROW.

Daniel stared at it.

Then another message arrived.

HE WILL CALL AT 3:17.

Daniel swallowed.

A third message appeared.

AND THIS TIME HE WILL TELL YOU WHO YOU KILLED.

The screen went dark.

Daniel looked at the clock.

3:18 AM.

For the first time in ten years, he wondered whether Jonathan Reed had really died.

And for the first time in his life, Daniel was afraid that the person he should be investigating…

was himself.