Long-press a paragraph to send danmaku
"He's inside your apartment." Lyla's voice crackled through the phone, no preamble, no breathing room.
Mark's hand went to his holster. Empty. He'd left the Glock in the desk drawer when Emma showed up with blood on those documents. Stupid. Three years out of the game and he was already sloppy.
"How long?" he said.
"GPS puts him in your living room two minutes ago. He's not moving."
Emma grabbed his wrist. Her nails bit into his skin. "What do we do?"
"We don't go in the front." Mark pulled her toward the fire escape, but his phone buzzed again. Different number. He knew before he answered.
"Detective Chen." Kyle's voice was smooth, almost friendly. "Or do you prefer Mark now? You stopped using the title after the frame-up. Sixteenth loop, you kept it. Fifteenth, you introduced yourself as detective all the way to the end."
"Where are you?"
"Your couch. Nice place. You've been renting this dump for eight months. Always the same building, always unit 3B. Makes it easy."
Mark's throat went dry. He looked at Emma. Her face had gone pale.
"What do you want?"
"A conversation. You've got seventy-one hours and forty-three minutes left. I thought we'd spend the first few getting acquainted. You keep trying to ambush me, Mark. It's adorable. But you don't have the advantage you think you do."
"Because you've done this before."
"Sixteen times. Seventeen if we count the original timeline, but that one doesn't matter anymore. I've watched you pull that same GPS tracker trick four times now. Twice you tried to shoot me when I walked through your door. Once you ran. Once you called Lyla for backup and got her killed instead."
Emma's breath hitched. Mark put a finger to his lips.
"So here's what happens next," Kyle continued. "You're going to walk in the front door. Emma's going to stay in the hallway. If she runs, I'll know. If you bring a weapon, I'll know. If Lyla's somewhere nearby with a rifle, I'll know that too."
"And then?"
"Then we talk. I'll tell you why your partner really died. You'll tell me where Grant hid the evidence. And maybe, if you're smart this time, you'll live long enough to see hour seventy-two."
The line went dead.
Emma yanked his arm. "Don't. He's going to kill you the second you walk in."
"He's had seventeen tries to kill me. If that's what he wanted, I'd already be dead."
"You are dead. Sixteen times."
"Because I didn't know the rules." Mark pulled free and started toward the building entrance. "Now I do."
"That's not a plan, that's suicide."
"You got a better idea?"
She didn't answer. Mark pushed through the door and took the stairs two at a time. His heart hammered against his ribs. Every instinct screamed to grab a weapon, call for backup, do anything except walk into his own apartment unarmed while a man who'd killed him sixteen times waited inside.
But Kyle was right about one thing. Mark had been playing this wrong. You don't set a trap for someone who's already seen every move you've got.
He stopped outside 3B. The door was cracked open. Warm light spilled into the hallway. He could smell coffee. Fresh. Kyle had made himself at home.
Mark pushed the door open.
Kyle sat on the couch, legs crossed, mug in hand. He looked younger than the photo Emma had shown him. Mid-thirties, clean-cut, wearing a tailored jacket that probably cost more than Mark's rent. He smiled like they were old friends.
"There he is. Close the door, would you?"
Mark did. His hands stayed loose at his sides. "You wanted to talk."
"I wanted to see if you'd actually show. Most loops, you try something clever. Twelfth loop, you threw a flashbang through the window. That was fun. Lyla pulled your body out of the rubble three hours later."
"What do you want, Kyle?"
"Oh, we're on a first-name basis now. Good. Saves time." Kyle set the mug down and stood. He moved like someone who'd done this a thousand times. Smooth. Confident. No wasted motion. "I want the files Grant stole. Emma thinks she's clever, hiding them in a storage unit under a dead woman's name. But she doesn't know which files matter. You do."
"I've never seen Grant's files."
"Not yet. But you will. Fifteenth loop, you found them six hours before I killed you. Fourteenth loop, you found them in time to burn half of them. That one cost me two extra resets."
Mark's jaw tightened. "Why tell me this?"
"Because I'm bored." Kyle stepped closer. "Sixteen loops of the same kills, the same reactions, the same mistakes. You're predictable, detective. Emma runs. Lyla dies trying to save you. You chase me down and get yourself shot in some parking garage or alley or stairwell. It's tedious."
"So you're here to spice things up."
"I'm here to see if you're worth the effort." Kyle stopped three feet away. Close enough that Mark could see the faint scar above his left eyebrow. Close enough to grab. "You were a good cop once. Your partner knew it. That's why he came to you with the evidence."
Mark's blood turned to ice. "Don't."
"Detective Aaron Cross. Seventeen years on the force. Decorated. Honest. Stupid. He found the contract, traced it back to the source, and called you at two in the morning because he thought you'd help him blow the whistle."
"Shut your mouth."
"You told him to wait. You told him you'd look at the evidence in the morning. And twelve hours later, someone put a bullet in his brain and made it look like suicide."
Mark's fist swung before he could think. Kyle caught his wrist mid-air, twisted, and slammed him face-first into the wall. Mark's cheek scraped against plaster. He tasted blood.
Kyle leaned in, breath warm against Mark's ear. "Vigil-Nine-Two-Echo. That was his call sign, wasn't it? The one he used on encrypted channels. The one only you and Internal Affairs knew about."
Mark stopped struggling.
"Yeah." Kyle's voice dropped to a whisper. "I know things I shouldn't, detective. I've had sixteen loops to dig through your life. I know your bank account password. I know you visit Aaron's grave every year on the anniversary. I know you blamed yourself so hard you walked away from the badge and spent three years rotting in this shithole apartment, chasing insurance fraud and cheating spouses."
He let go. Mark staggered back, breath ragged.
"So here's the deal." Kyle straightened his jacket. "You've got seventy-one hours. Find Grant's files. Bring them to me. Do that, and I'll tell you who really killed Aaron. I'll give you names, dates, bank transfers. Everything you need to clear your conscience and put the right people in the ground."
"And if I don't?"
"Then you die. Emma dies. Lyla dies. And I reset the loop and do it all again with someone smarter."
Mark wiped blood from his lip. His hands were shaking. Not from fear. From rage. "You're lying. If you could reset whenever you wanted, you'd have done it already."
Kyle's smile widened. "Smart. You're right. The loop has rules. I get seventy-two hours. If I die, it resets. If I survive and complete the objective, it locks. If the timer runs out, it locks."
"So you can't reset unless I kill you."
"Or unless I kill myself. But why would I? This loop's going well so far."
Mark's mind raced. Kyle had just handed him the playbook. If the loop locked at seventy-two hours, all Mark had to do was survive. But Kyle knew that. He'd done this sixteen times. There was something else. Some variable Mark couldn't see yet.
Kyle walked toward the door, then paused. "Oh. One more thing. Emma's not in the hallway anymore."
Mark's stomach dropped. He shoved past Kyle and yanked the door open.
The hallway was empty.
No. Not empty. There was blood. Fresh. A thin trail leading from the stairs to the door at the end of the hall. The one that was always locked. The one that led to the roof access.
Kyle's voice drifted from inside the apartment. "Seventy-one hours, Mark. Clock's ticking."
Mark ran.
The blood trail thickened as he reached the roof door. It was cracked open. He slammed through it and stumbled onto the gravel rooftop.
Emma stood at the edge, hands raised. Someone was behind her. Mark couldn't see their face. But he could see the gun pressed against the base of her skull.
"Drop it," a woman's voice said.
Mark froze. He wasn't holding anything.
The woman stepped into the light.
Lyla.
His ex-partner. His last friend on the force. The only person who still believed he was innocent.
She smiled. Not Lyla's smile. Something colder.
"Seventeenth loop, detective," she said. "Let's see if you finally figure it out."
She pulled the trigger.
The world folded.
Mark's phone buzzed. He looked down.
Lyla's text: *He's inside your apartment.*
The timestamp read three minutes earlier.
He was standing outside his building again. Emma was gripping his wrist. Her nails bit into his skin.
"What do we do?" she said.
Mark stared at her. Then at the blood trail on the hallway floor that hadn't happened yet.
Then at the locked door at the end of the hall that was already open.