Evelyn's POV
The last thing I remembered was blood.
A ridiculous thought crossed my mind as I lay on the cold road.
So this is how horror writers die.
Not dramatically.
Not heroically.
Just a flashing red light, screaming brakes, and a truck that appeared out of nowhere.
My fingers twitched weakly against the pavement.
People were shouting.
Someone was crying.
The world felt distant.
Like I was underwater.
Then everything went dark.
---
I woke up gasping.
My lungs burned.
Cold sweat covered my body.
For several seconds, I couldn't understand where I was.
White ceiling.
Expensive chandelier.
Dark wooden furniture.
A room bigger than my entire apartment.
I blinked.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
Nothing changed.
My heart pounded violently.
"What..."
My voice froze.
That wasn't my voice.
It was deeper.
Lower.
A man's voice.
I shot upright.
The movement made my head spin.
The blanket slipped from my body.
My hands immediately grabbed it again.
Large hands.
Veined hands.
Male hands.
My breathing stopped.
"No."
I stared at my fingers.
"No no no no no."
I stumbled out of bed.
The room tilted around me.
Across the room stood a full-length mirror.
I practically ran toward it.
Then I froze.
A stranger stared back.
Black hair.
Sharp jawline.
Grey eyes.
Tall.
Lean.
Unfairly handsome.
I knew that face.
I knew it better than my own.
Because I had spent three years obsessing over it.
Three years reading fan theories.
Three years rereading the novel.
Three years wishing the author had written more chapters.
The face staring back at me belonged to only one person.
Rayen Morris.
The protagonist of The Demonologist.
My favorite novel.
My knees nearly gave out.
"No way."
I touched my face.
The reflection copied me.
"No way."
I pinched myself.
Hard.
"Ouch!"
Still real.
Still Rayen.
Still impossible.
A knock interrupted my panic.
Three precise knocks.
"Director Morris."
I jumped.
A woman's voice echoed through the door.
"The meeting begins in thirty minutes."
Meeting?
What meeting?
I didn't know any meeting.
Because I wasn't Rayen Morris.
I was Evelyn Hart.
Twenty-six years old.
Horror novelist.
Dead.
Possibly insane.
"Director?"
the woman called again.
Director?
Wait.
Director?
My eyes widened.
This wasn't beginning-of-story Rayen.
This was future Rayen.
Near the end of the novel.
The strongest version.
The version that solved impossible cases.
The version everyone respected.
The version who—
The version who died.
"Oh, you've got to be kidding me."
---
The next hour was pure torture.
I found Rayen's phone.
I found Rayen's wallet.
I found Rayen's identification.
Everything confirmed the same horrifying truth.
I was Rayen Morris.
Director of Special Investigations.
Paranormal Investigation Bureau.
Age twenty-nine.
Status...
Complicated.
I knew the novel.
I knew every major arc.
I knew every villain.
I knew every tragic death.
Unfortunately.
I also knew that Rayen's ending was terrible.
He died exposing a conspiracy.
Which meant—
I was living on borrowed time.
Fantastic.
Absolutely fantastic.
I survived getting hit by a truck only to inherit someone else's death flag.
Life truly hated me.
---
The Paranormal Investigation Bureau tower stood in the center of the city.
Thirty floors of steel and glass.
Ordinary people thought it was a government agency.
Only a handful knew its true purpose.
Ghosts.
Demons.
Curses.
Urban legends.
Monsters.
The Bureau handled them all.
The moment I stepped inside, dozens of employees greeted me.
"Morning, Director."
"Good morning, sir."
"Director Morris."
Sir.
The word felt strange.
Very strange.
I nodded awkwardly.
Apparently that was enough.
People immediately returned to work.
My chest loosened slightly.
Maybe this wouldn't be impossible.
Maybe I could fake it.
Maybe—
"Rayen."
A warm voice interrupted my thoughts.
I froze.
The novel.
I recognized that voice.
Slowly, I turned.
A man approached from the hallway.
Silver-rimmed glasses.
Perfect suit.
Gentle smile.
Kind eyes.
Adrian Whitmore.
Director General.
Rayen's boss.
The man readers loved.
The man characters trusted.
The man who secretly ruined countless lives.
The main villain.
For one terrifying second, I wondered if he could somehow see through me.
His smile widened.
"Rough night?"
I nearly jumped.
"What?"
"You seem distracted."
His tone was soft.
Fatherly.
Comforting.
Exactly as described in the novel.
Which somehow made him even scarier.
"No," I said quickly.
"I'm fine."
His gaze lingered on me.
For a moment, I thought I saw something calculating behind his eyes.
Then it vanished.
"Good."
He patted my shoulder.
"There's a new case waiting for you."
My stomach dropped.
A case.
Already?
I hadn't even figured out how to be Rayen yet.
---
An hour later I sat in a conference room trying not to panic.
A large screen displayed photographs.
Abandoned apartment building.
East District.
Seven disappearances.
Three deaths.
Witnesses reporting shadows.
Strange noises.
Missing time.
Classic supernatural case.
The team looked toward me expectantly.
Apparently Director Rayen Morris was supposed to say something intelligent.
Unfortunately.
I had absolutely no idea what I was doing.
"Interesting."
I prayed nobody noticed I was stalling.
One investigator nodded.
Another wrote something down.
Were they taking notes?
On that?
How was Rayen functioning before this?
Thankfully, a file lay in front of me.
I opened it casually.
Inside were handwritten notes.
Detailed observations.
Predictions.
Possible explanations.
My eyes widened.
Rayen's notes.
The original Rayen had already investigated.
A lifesaver.
I quickly scanned them.
Then spoke.
"The building isn't haunted."
The room fell silent.
Everyone stared.
My heart almost stopped.
Then several investigators exchanged impressed looks.
Apparently that was the correct answer.
Lucky me.
"The disappearances are connected to a demonic anchor."
The words came directly from Rayen's notes.
Again.
People nodded.
Again.
I wanted to cry from relief.
Maybe I wouldn't die immediately.
Maybe.
---
That evening, I stood outside the abandoned building.
Rain fell from a dark sky.
The structure looked ready to collapse.
Broken windows.
Cracked walls.
Rotting concrete.
A perfect horror movie location.
My team prepared equipment nearby.
I swallowed.
The first major case.
The case where everything begins.
The case where Rayen meets—
A sudden chill ran down my spine.
Someone was watching me.
I turned.
Across the street.
A man stood beneath a flickering streetlight.
Tall.
Handsome.
Black coat.
One hand in his pocket.
The rain somehow never seemed to touch him.
Even from a distance.
I recognized him.
Luke Vale.
My pulse skipped.
The mysterious man.
The walking red flag.
The person who should not be here.
Slowly.
Luke smiled.
Not a friendly smile.
Not a threatening smile.
A knowing smile.
Like he had just discovered something amusing.
Then his eyes locked onto mine.
And for the first time since waking up in this world—
I felt genuine fear.
Because it looked like Luke Vale already knew.
I wasn't the real Rayen Morris.
Luke's POV
Interesting.
Very interesting.
For years, Rayen Morris had been impossible to read.
Sharp.
Cold.
Careful.
Today felt different.
The person standing outside that building wore Rayen's face.
Moved like Rayen.
Spoke like Rayen.
Yet something was missing.
Something fundamental.
I watched from across the street.
Rain falling around me.
A smile tugged at my lips.
The soul was wrong.
And in my experience.
A wrong soul always led to a very interesting story.
"Who are you?" I murmured.
The figure across the road looked directly at me.
Perfect timing.
Because I intended to find out.
Soon.