"Sometimes the love we lost isn't meant to be found—but to be accepted as part of the wound."
The Manhattan sky was gray that afternoon. Heavy clouds hung above the skyscrapers like burdens of secrets that had never fully been told. Ava Mitchell sat in the backseat of a slowly moving black cab along Fifth Avenue, staring at her reflection in the window with a vacant expression. Her hair was tied up loosely, her face bare. It had been so long since she last set foot in this city.
Three years.
Three years since Ben disappeared.
Three years since Ava's world stopped spinning.
The cab driver glanced at her through the rearview mirror. "Miss, we're almost at the address you gave me. 79th Street, near Central Park."
Ava gave a small nod. "Thank you."
She took a deep breath. The air in New York hadn't changed: a mixture of morning coffee, car exhaust, and the dust of life that never slowed down. Ava closed her eyes for a second, then opened them again. The image of Ben still clung tightly in her mind—his soft smile, the way he straightened his collar, and his laughter that used to echo even through the city's chaos.
She tried to push the memories aside. But this city... it never allowed space for forgetting.
---
The apartment Ava would be staying in temporarily was on the fifth floor of an old red-brick building. The elevator was narrow and creaked with every movement. As the doors opened, the scent of old carpet and worn wood welcomed her. She pulled her large suitcase behind her and stepped into unit 5B.
As the door opened, the aroma of lavender filled the air. Caroline, Ava's best friend and former coworker, had prepared the place for her. Ava placed her suitcase beside the couch and sat down, gazing blankly at the window that faced the street.
Caroline would arrive later that evening from Boston.
Alone in the apartment, Ava felt as though the city was swallowing her whole. She walked to the kitchen, poured water into a glass, and stood there for a long time without taking a sip.
Her phone vibrated.
Unknown number.
Ava raised an eyebrow. Hesitant. But her fingers moved on their own.
"Hello?"
The voice on the other end was deep, almost a whisper. "Ava Mitchell?"
Her heartbeat quickened. "Yes, who is this?"
"You shouldn't have come back."
"Excuse me? Who is this?!"
Click.
The line went dead.
Ava stood frozen. Her heart was pounding. A chill ran down her spine.
---
That night, Ava walked down the rain-dampened sidewalk. She wore a black leather jacket and a gray scarf—the one Ben had given her on her last birthday with him. Her destination: an old café named Velvet Hours in Greenwich Village, their favorite spot back then.
She just wanted to see it again. Sit in the corner. Order a cappuccino. Try to swallow the pain with bitter coffee.
But what she found was not warm nostalgia.
It was a face in the corner.
A face that should've been dead.
---
Ava froze. She stood at the threshold of the café as if gravity itself was pulling her backward. The man sat there, reading a newspaper. His appearance may have changed—a thin beard, slightly longer hair, and sunglasses resting on his head—but Ava could never mistake that face.
It was Ben.
Impossible. He had been buried. Funeral. Casket. All of it was real.
But there he was, alive, breathing. Sipping coffee like nothing had ever happened.
Ava took a step forward. The glass door chimed softly as she pushed it open.
The man looked up. His eyes met Ava's.
And he smiled.
"You finally came," he said quietly.
---
They sat across from each other. Ava could barely speak. She stared at Ben as if seeing a ghost.
"You... you were dead. I saw your body. I..."
Ben raised a hand. "Not here, Ava. Not tonight."
"What do you mean? I have the right to know!"
"And you will. But you're in danger. You shouldn't have come back to New York."
Ava bit her lip, holding back rage and fear. "If I'm in danger, why didn't you tell me before? Why now?"
Ben looked down. "Because only now it begins. And because they know you're here."
"Who's 'they'?"
Ben didn't answer. Instead, he slipped something into Ava's jacket pocket under the table.
"Open that when you get home. Not here. Not now."
Ava wanted to scream. Cry. Or hug him. But her body was frozen in confusion.
Ben stood. "Don't follow me. And don't trust anyone. Not even Caroline."
"What do you mean?! Ben!"
But the man had already walked out of the café. The rain grew heavier. Ava sat motionless, her breath uneven.
---
That night, she returned home in a haze. At the apartment, she reached into her jacket pocket.
A flash drive.
And a small folded paper.
It read:
"Start with the file 'Cassandra.' And prepare for the truth."
---
To be continued…