Chapter 2

The blanket was tossed to one side, as if someone had just gotten up.

I walked over and touched the sheets. They were cold.

"Chloe?" I called out, my voice quiet, as if I was afraid of waking someone.

No response.

I called her name again, louder this time. Still, silence.

I turned and checked the bathroom. Empty.

The kitchen. Empty.

The balcony. Empty.

My apartment was tiny—barely six hundred square feet. You could see the whole place in one glance.

I stood in the middle of the living room, looking at the two officers who had followed me in. Seeing the expressions on their faces, I suddenly felt like an absolute idiot.

"She... she probably went out to buy some groceries," I muttered.

Officer Miller didn't say anything. He just watched me.

I looked down at the coffee table.

Last night, I had brewed a hot remedy for Chloe. It was a dark, bitter liquid. She had only drank half of it, complaining it was too bitter, and left the rest on the table.

I had told her she could finish it tomorrow, that I’d make her a fresh batch.

Now, the mug was gone.

No, it wasn't just the mug.

I suddenly realized that all the medical supplies I’d been using—the ointment jars, the gauze, the antiseptic, the cotton swabs—which had been piled messily next to the coffee table, were gone.

Chloe’s wounds needed daily dressing. Every time I changed her bandages, I would put the blood-stained gauze into a trash bag by the door, planning to take it down later.

Now, everything was gone.

The coffee table was completely clean.

The half-empty mug was gone, the gauze was gone, the medicine jars were gone.

This wasn't right.

None of this made sense.

I stood there, my head buzzing. Something dark was clawing its way up my throat, but I forced myself to swallow it down.

Officer Miller walked up to me and put a hand on my shoulder. "Lucas, are you okay?"

"She came back," I said, turning to look at him, emphasizing every single word.

"She really came back. Last Wednesday night, she knocked on my door. She was covered in cuts, her face was bloody, and I barely recognized her. She told me she had been kidnapped and trafficked to a sweatshop, and she’d been running for three years to escape. I cooked for her, bandaged her wounds, and took care of her for seven days. I didn't dream this. I didn't make this up. She was here."

Officer Miller was silent for a moment. "Then why didn't you call the police?"

I froze.

Why didn't I call the police?

Because Chloe begged me not to.

"She said..." I tried desperately to recall that night. "She said the people running the sweatshop had powerful connections. She said the police wouldn't help and would just send her back. She told me she wanted to lay low for a while until things blew over. She said having me was enough, that she didn't want anyone else to know."

Officer Miller looked at me, his eyes filled with something I couldn't quite read.

"During these seven days, did anyone else see her?"

I thought about it. "No. She never left the apartment. Other than running down to get groceries and medicine, I was with her the entire time."

"What about security cameras? Did the cameras at your building entrance catch her?"

"My building is old. The security cameras have been broken for years. Management never fixed them."

Officer Miller nodded slowly but didn't say anything else.

The younger officer beside him whispered, "Sir, this is getting a bit too..."

Officer Miller raised a hand to silence him.

"Lucas, come back to the station with us first. Identify the body."