Edge of the Dark

Chapter 128: Chapter 127: Shattered Dreams

The darkness enveloped him like a thick fog, pressing in from all sides, suffocating in its intensity. Ethan could barely see his own hand in front of his face, yet the world around him felt all too tangible—like a dream that was slipping through his fingers just as he thought he had a firm grasp on it. The kind of dream that was once vivid, full of promises and certainty, but now lay in ruins, shattered into a million fragmented pieces.

Was this really all there was?

He had been chasing answers, trying to piece together the puzzle of his life, his purpose, and the truth behind the darkness that had consumed everything he once held dear. But now, as he stumbled through the void, he found that the answers he had sought only led him deeper into uncertainty. The more he uncovered, the more elusive the truth became. It was as if the ground beneath him had cracked open, and all he was left with was the eerie silence of a world that no longer made sense.

The storm of thoughts inside his head was deafening. Had it all been worth it? All the sacrifices, all the pain, all the people he had lost along the way? His mind flashed back to Grace, to the way her words had shaken him to his core. We choose, Ethan. We choose which truth to follow.

But how could he choose when everything felt so broken? When the very foundation of his understanding had crumbled beneath him?

His chest tightened, and he found it hard to breathe. Was it all a lie? Had he spent his entire life chasing something that was never really there—some distorted version of justice, some unreachable ideal of truth?

The sound of a door creaking open snapped him from his thoughts. He looked up to find himself standing in front of a door he didn't recognize, its edges blurred and indistinct, as if it were part of a half-forgotten memory. But he knew, deep down, that he had been here before. This was no coincidence.

He hesitated for a moment, his hand hovering over the doorknob, his pulse quickening. What would he find on the other side? Would it be another answer, another revelation, or just more confusion?

With a deep breath, Ethan pushed the door open.

The world on the other side was unfamiliar, yet familiar at the same time. It was a room bathed in dim, flickering light, its walls lined with photographs, newspaper clippings, and maps. It was a room of memories—his memories, no doubt—captured in pieces of paper and images, fragments of a past that felt distant, yet painfully close.

His eyes moved from one photograph to the next. There, in the center of the wall, was a picture of himself. He was younger in the photo, smiling, his eyes full of hope. But the smile was wrong, somehow, as if it had been forced. The face staring back at him seemed foreign, like it belonged to someone else.

As he stepped forward, his gaze was drawn to a familiar face—Grace. She stood in a corner of the room, her expression unreadable, her eyes distant. But there was something different about her, something that didn't belong. The image of her seemed warped, distorted, like it had been smeared by something he couldn't quite place.

And then, as if on cue, a voice echoed through the room, low and haunting.

"You were never meant to find this."

Ethan spun around, heart racing. The room was empty, save for the pictures and the walls covered in a web of interconnected clues. The voice had come from nowhere—and everywhere. It was as if the very walls were speaking to him.

He stumbled backward, his mind racing with a thousand questions. "Who's there? What do you mean?"

The voice responded, this time tinged with a cruel edge. "You think you've been chasing the truth, but the truth was never meant for you. This—this is the price you pay for your pursuit of something that was never yours to begin with."

Ethan felt the floor beneath him shift, as if the room itself was folding in on itself. The photographs on the walls twisted and blurred, turning into something grotesque, their once-clear faces now twisted and deformed. He reached out to steady himself, but the floor seemed to give way beneath him, the ground cracking open as though it were nothing more than fragile glass.

"What's happening?" His voice was hoarse, panicked. His mind was spinning, unable to make sense of the chaos around him.

The voice spoke again, closer now, as if it were standing right behind him. "You've spent your life chasing shadows, Ethan. But shadows can never be captured. And now, you must face the truth—your truth. The one you've ignored all this time."

His head spun as memories flooded back, images of his past, the cases he had solved, the lives he had touched, the relationships he had shattered. Had he really understood any of it? Had he truly seen the truth, or had he been blind all along?

He woke with a jolt, his body jerking upright in bed. Sweat clung to his skin, his heart pounding as though he had just run a marathon. The room was dark, the only sound the steady rhythm of his breathing. Nôv(el)B\\jnn

It had been a dream—or had it? He looked around the room, trying to steady himself. The familiar surroundings of his apartment greeted him, but the weight of the dream lingered like a shadow, pressing down on him with an unsettling intensity. It had felt so real, so vivid. And the voice—the voice that had spoken to him, guiding him through that labyrinth of distorted memories—it felt like it had come from deep within himself.

Ethan closed his eyes, his mind replaying the dream over and over again. What did it mean? Was it a warning? A reflection of the guilt and doubt that had been eating away at him? He had spent so long seeking the truth, but had he been running in circles, chasing illusions? The answers were always just out of reach, always buried beneath layers of lies and deceptions.

He ran a hand through his hair, trying to shake off the feeling of disorientation. He couldn't stay here. He couldn't let this uncertainty consume him. But what was the next step? What was he supposed to do now that everything seemed so broken?

There was a knock at the door, sharp and insistent. It startled him, but he forced himself to stand, pushing aside the remnants of the dream that still clung to him.

Opening the door, he was met with the last person he expected.

Grace.

Her expression was unreadable, but there was something in her eyes—something that mirrored the doubt and confusion that churned within him. For a moment, neither of them spoke. The silence stretched between them, thick and heavy, as though the weight of their shared history pressed down on them, suffocating any words that might have escaped.

Finally, Grace spoke. Her voice was low, measured. "Ethan... we need to talk."

Ethan stepped aside, allowing Grace to enter. As she crossed the threshold, a strange feeling washed over him, as though the world itself was holding its breath. There was no turning back now. Whatever conversation they were about to have, it would mark the end of something—of everything.

The broken fragments of their shared history hung in the air like a forgotten symphony, each note a reminder of the past, a past that both of them had tried so desperately to move beyond. But as the door clicked shut behind them, Ethan realized something: no matter how far they ran, the truth was never far behind. And in that moment, he knew that the dream—the shattered pieces of his past—was only the beginning.

The end had already begun.