It began with a knock.
Three soft taps on Amara's apartment door. Not urgent. Not hostile. Just deliberate enough to raise her pulse. She padded barefoot across the room, unlatched the lock, and found Natalie standing there with a manila folder clutched to her chest like it held someone's ashes.
Her best friend looked different. Eyes sharper. Lips set. Like she'd seen a ghost and decided to interrogate it instead of run.
"I think I found something," Natalie said, brushing past Amara with no greeting, no hug—just purpose.
---
They sat in the living room, a mix of candlelight and the dim city glow stretching shadows across the walls. Amara poured two mugs of strong ginger tea, her hands trembling just slightly.
Natalie opened the folder with surgical precision. Inside were documents, screenshots, blurred photocopies, and something Amara didn't expect: a black-and-white photo. A younger Markus. Thinner. Sharper around the edges. Standing beside a woman in a trench coat outside what looked like a private boarding school or clinic.
Amara blinked. "What is this?"
Natalie slid the photo toward her like she was handing her a loaded gun.
"That," she said, pointing to the woman, "is Dr. Ivana Rezak. A Czech psychologist who disappeared fifteen years ago. She ran an underground therapy facility in Brno. Not licensed. Not regulated. Rumored to be... extreme."
"Extreme how?"
Natalie took a breath. "Behavioral reconditioning. Hypnosis. Emotional regression. They catered to European elite families. The kind that didn't want therapy. They wanted obedience."
"And Markus was... a patient?"
Natalie smirked, but it didn't reach her eyes. "No, babe. He was the funder. One of the silent investors. Under a shell company called Grunfeld Solutions. I cross-checked the board. Guess who was listed as executive advisor under an alias?"
Amara stared at her. "Markus."
Natalie nodded. "Under the name Felix M. Adler. M standing for Markus, I assume."
Amara picked up the photo. Markus stood stiffly, like he didn't belong, but still owned the air around him. The woman beside him leaned in with a strange smile—half lover, half student.
"So what happened to her?"
Natalie pulled out a burnt police report. "She vanished. Two weeks after receiving a massive offshore transfer. The clinic was burned to the ground six months later. Investigators believe it was intentional. No charges were ever filed. Case cold."
Amara sat back. Her thoughts felt like broken glass.
"Why would Markus fund something like that?"
Natalie leaned forward, voice dropping. "Because he doesn't just want control. He wants mastery. Manipulation isn't a tool for him. It's a religion."
They sat in silence for a long moment.
Then Amara said softly, "She was his teacher."
Natalie nodded. "And you... were supposed to be his greatest student."
---
Amara walked to the window, hugging herself. Outside, a couple argued near the kiosk. A dog barked two blocks away. But all she could hear was Markus's voice from Prague:
"People don't break you, Amara. You hand them the blade."
Had that always been a clue?
Had he studied her like an assignment? Broken her down like a thesis?
Natalie stood behind her, voice softening. "There's more."
Amara turned. "Of course there is."
Natalie grinned slightly. "I hacked into one of his shell bank accounts. Don't ask how. Let's just say I have an ex who works for a cybersecurity firm in Vienna and a thing for long-distance emotional manipulation."
"You seduced a hacker for me?"
"I flirted. Calm down. It was ethical hacking. Mostly."
Amara laughed despite herself, wiping at her eyes. "God, I needed that."
"I know," Natalie said. "Which is why I brought wine."
"You're the only person I trust."
"Well, that makes two of us." Natalie paused. "Because guess who's on that account's recent transaction list?"
Amara blinked. "Who?"
"Faith. Your girl Faith. Twice. Under aliases, but the data trail matches her ID signature in Nairobi."
Amara's blood turned to ice.
"He paid her?"
Natalie nodded. "Which means... she's either working for him. Or being watched by him."
---
They opened the wine. They didn't talk for a while.
Just the gentle hum of anxiety and alcohol, and Amara's thoughts spiraling into old places.
"I used to think he loved me," she whispered. "Like... real love. The kind people write songs about. The kind you don't walk away from."
Natalie leaned her head on her shoulder. "I know you did."
"The way he kissed me. The way he held my face when we made love. That wasn't fake. I swear it wasn't."
"Maybe it wasn't. But even monsters fall in love, Amara. Doesn't make them less monstrous."
Amara exhaled. "That's the worst part. I still dream about him. Sometimes, I still want it back."
Natalie didn't judge her. She just held her hand.
"He wanted to erase you," she said. "But instead, you found your voice. And now he's terrified."
Amara looked at the documents. "Then let's terrify him more."
---
The next morning, Natalie sent a file titled "Ivana Code" to Amara's email. It was grainy footage from the Prague archives.
A security camera, time-stamped 2009. A woman—Ivana Rezak—in a long coat, walking into the clinic. Behind her, a black car pulls up.
Markus steps out.
Younger. But with the same eyes.
He hands her something—a slim silver briefcase. She laughs. They embrace.
Then, minutes later, the footage glitches.
Skips.
When it resumes, Ivana is gone. The building's front lights flicker off.
And Markus walks away, expressionless.
---
Amara watched the video three times.
"He made her disappear."
Natalie called instantly. "Or she chose to disappear. Maybe he didn't kill her. Maybe she vanished by design."
"But why?"
Natalie hesitated. "Because she knew too much. Or because she knew something about him he couldn't risk."
Amara stared at the paused image of Markus on screen.
Cold. Calm. Careful.
Natalie added, "There's more to this story, Mara. There always is."
Amara whispered, "Then let's keep digging."
She didn't know where the rabbit hole ended.
But she knew this:
Markus had a past.
And Amara was done being his future.