When The Rain Fall

Mia's hands trembled as she lowered the phone. The distorted voice echoed in her mind.

"You're getting too close. Walk away… before it's too late."

Jonah clenched his fists. "Whoever this is, they know we're looking for Isla."

Liam's face was pale but determined. "Then we're on the right track."

Mia took a deep breath, trying to steady herself. "If Isla knew something dangerous, we have to find out what."

Jonah's gaze darkened. "And we have to do it before they stop us."

Back at Jonah's apartment, they spread out everything they had: Isla's journal, the asylum records, the mysterious files.

One thing kept coming up—the man in the dark coat Isla had written about.

Mia flipped through the journal again. "She said he was always watching. What if he wasn't just following her? What if he worked for someone?"

Liam frowned. "Like whoever erased the records?"

Jonah's eyes narrowed. "What if he's the reason she disappeared?"

A chill ran down Mia's spine. "Then we need to find him."

Jonah pulled out an old polaroid photo of Isla, taken a few weeks before she vanished. In the background, near the oak tree, stood a shadowy figure in a dark coat.

Mia's breath hitched. "That's him."

Liam leaned in. "Wait… that place behind him… that's the old Sterling Art Gallery."

Jonah's eyes widened. "Isla used to go there all the time."

Mia's pulse quickened. "Then maybe he did too."

Liam stood. "Let's go."

The Sterling Gallery and the Secret Room

The Sterling Art Gallery had been closed for years. The windows were covered in dust, and the entrance was boarded up.

Jonah glanced around before pulling out a crowbar from his bag. "We're getting in."

With a few hard pulls, the wood gave way, and they slipped inside.

The air was thick with the scent of old paint and damp wood. Dust floated in the dim light filtering through broken windows. The silence was unsettling.

Mia shivered. "Isla came here. What was she looking for?"

Liam moved toward a row of abandoned paintings, his fingers brushing over the cracked canvases. "Maybe something she wasn't supposed to find."

Jonah stepped deeper into the gallery, shining his flashlight along the walls. Then he froze.

"Mia… Liam… look at this."

They rushed over.

On the far wall was a mural—a massive painting of the oak tree, just like the one in Isla's sketches.

But that wasn't the strangest part.

Near the base of the tree was a figure in a dark coat, its face obscured. And beneath the painting, in small, barely visible letters, was a message:

"He sees everything. The answer is in the red door."

Mia's breath hitched. "What red door?"

Jonah's flashlight moved across the room until it stopped on something at the far end.

A single red door, half-hidden behind an old canvas.

Liam swallowed. "That wasn't in the original gallery layout."

Jonah moved toward it. "Then we need to find out what's behind it."

He pushed it open.

And they stepped into the dark.

The room beyond the red door was nothing like the gallery.

It was a cold, underground space, lined with filing cabinets, old equipment, and photographs pinned to the walls.

Mia's stomach churned. "This isn't an art room… this is a surveillance bunker."

Jonah grabbed one of the photographs. It was a picture of Isla, taken from a distance.

Liam picked up another—this one of him.

Jonah's voice was tight. "They were watching both of you."

Mia's hands shook as she flipped through a stack of old documents. One caught her attention.

It was labeled CLASSIFIED.

She read the first few lines aloud:

"Subjects exhibit signs of heightened perception. Abnormal neural activity suggests a potential connection to precognitive phenomena. Monitoring continues to assess risk."

Mia's breath hitched. "What does this mean?"

Jonah's face paled. "They weren't just watching Isla… they were studying her."

Liam swallowed hard. "And me."

Mia flipped to another page. Patient X-42 was listed again, with a note beside it:

"Termination of subject resulted in failure. Second subject under observation."

Mia's hands went numb. "Termination?"

Jonah clenched his jaw. "They think Isla is dead."

Liam's face twisted. "But what if they're wrong?"

Mia's voice was barely a whisper. "Then she might still be alive."

A sound echoed through the gallery—footsteps.

Mia's pulse spiked. "Someone's here."

Jonah grabbed a file and stuffed it in his jacket. "We have to go. Now."

Liam shoved the documents back and led the way through the dark corridors.

As they reached the exit, a figure stepped out of the shadows.

Mia's blood ran cold. It was the same man from the photographs, the same one Isla had written about.

Jonah took a step forward. "Who the hell are you?"

The man's voice was calm, almost amused. "You're asking the wrong question."

Mia swallowed. "Then what's the right one?"

The man smirked. "Do you really want to know what happened to Isla?"

Liam's hands curled into fists. "Where is she?"

The man tilted his head. "That depends. How far are you willing to go for the truth?"

Jonah glared at him. "We'll do whatever it takes."

The man's smirk widened. "Good."

He tossed something onto the floor. It clattered at their feet—a keycard, labeled WHITMORE FACILITY – LEVEL 3.

Mia's heart pounded. "The asylum… there's more?"

The man's gaze darkened. "You're not ready for what you'll find there."

Liam stepped forward. "Try us."

The man chuckled. "Then you better hurry."

Mia's breath hitched. "Why?"

The man's expression turned ice-cold.

"Because you're not the only ones looking for her."

And then—before they could react—he disappeared into the shadows.