"It's too risky, Clara."
Adrian's voice was low but sharp. His knuckles were white against the steering wheel.
Ahead of them, Mnemosyne Clinic rose out of the gray morning light like an open wound in concrete.
The main gate was half open. Beyond it, men in orange hazmat suits and masks moved among the wreckage.
Some spoke in low voices, others took notes on tablets. Blackened walls, cracked glass, hanging cables, everything looked like the aftermath of an explosion, a secret gone wrong.
Clara swallowed hard. Coming back here felt like walking straight into a lucid nightmare.
And yet she knew, there was no other choice.
"We have to," she said, steadying her voice. "If we want to find out who the next victim might be, we need the names of the former patients. Everyone Rinaldi ever treated."
Adrian shook his head.
"This is insane. Room 3B literally blew up, Clara. If anyone sees you here…"
"They can't prove anything. And you'll stay outside, so we won't draw attention."
He stared at her, blue eyes dark with worry.
"I don't like it. Not one bit."
"I know. But it's the only way."
He hesitated for a few seconds, then gave in.
"Five minutes. If you're not back, I'm coming in."
Clara smiled faintly, though inside she was trembling. She opened the car door and stepped out.
The sound of rain dripping through broken glass sent a chill through her.
The moment she stepped into the lobby, she was met by a low, nervous hum of voices.
Colleagues, nurses, technicians: familiar faces distorted by fear and exhaustion.
"Clara! Thank God! You've heard what happened, right?" an anxious nurse said.
Clara feigned surprise.
"No… I just got here. What happened?"
A doctor hurried over. "They found Rinaldi completely disoriented. He doesn't remember anything. Nothing at all, not even his name. And Room 3B… it's completely destroyed. No one can figure out what caused it."
Clara widened her eyes, pretending to be shocked.
"Oh my God. How is that even possible?"
Another voice joined in, grimmer this time.
"Probably one of his experiments gone wrong. You know how he was, always pushing too far. It was bound to happen."
Clara nodded slowly, keeping her face neutral.
"Can I see him?" she asked.
"He's upstairs. Second floor."
"I'll go later. I want to check a few files in my office first, maybe I'll find something useful."
She walked away before anyone could ask more. Each step echoed sharply down the corridor. The smell of disinfectant mixed with the faint, metallic tang of burnt wires.
In her office, she closed the door and took a deep breath. Then she turned on the computer and typed her password.
The screen lit up: Patient Archive – Mnemosyne Clinic.
Dozens of names. Numbers. Folders.
She searched for Laura Neri.
The admission date appeared right away: March 12, 2023.
Then she scrolled down, to the next patient.
Giulia Valenti – admitted March 15, 2023 – discharged March 28, 2023.
Clara noted the date, then went back, looking for whoever came before Laura.
Her eyes froze on another name:
Elisa Moretti – admitted March 7, 2023 – discharged March 10, 2023.
Clara frowned.
"A girl," she murmured. "Seventeen years old."
She opened the file: Generalized anxiety. Insomnia. Mild perception disorders.
Nothing unusual, except for one handwritten note signed A. Rinaldi: "Subject highly sensitive to mental stimuli."
"Sensitive to mental stimuli…" Clara whispered.
The same phrase Rinaldi had once used to describe Adrian.
A shiver ran down her spine. She printed both files, Elisa Moretti and Giulia Valenti, and slipped them into her bag.
Then she went to the physical archive.
Rows of shelves towered above her, filled with thick folders. Her hands trembled slightly as she ran her fingers along the labels. Each name, each file, was a story interrupted, a broken life.
Footsteps echoed in the hallway. Clara froze.
A shadow passed across the frosted glass of the door. The handle turned.
A young doctor peeked in.
"Clara? You okay?"
She turned, feigning calm.
"Yes, just… looking for some of Rinaldi's notes. Maybe they'll help us understand what happened."
He gave a short, uneasy laugh.
"Good luck with that. Nobody here understands anything anymore. It's like something… supernatural happened."
Clara smiled faintly and waved him off. She waited until his footsteps faded before grabbing everything she needed and slipping out. The hallway lights flickered as she passed. Every shadow seemed alive, watching her. When she reached Rinaldi's room, she stopped.
The door was ajar.
Inside, a man sat on the bed, staring blankly at the wall. Rinaldi. Or what was left of him.
Clara's breath caught in her throat. She turned away quickly. Not now. Not yet.
Outside, the air felt heavier. She crossed the parking lot and spotted Adrian waiting beside the car. When he saw her, he pushed off the hood and came to meet her.
"You took forever," he said, tense.
"I know. But I found something."
She opened her bag and handed him the files. He scanned the names quickly, his expression darkening.
"Elisa Moretti… Giulia Valenti… who are they?"
"Elisa was discharged right before Laura. Giulia came after. If the killer is following a sequence, these two might be the key, the before and the after."
Adrian nodded slowly.
"And if Luca Ferretti is somehow involved, he's connected to one or both of them. We'll have to check."
"Yes," Clara agreed. "First the girl, then Giulia. We'll see if there's a pattern."
He brushed his thumb along the paper's edge, lost in thought.
"You've got a sharp mind, Clara. If we can trace the connection, we'll find him too."
She looked into his eyes.
"And what if the killer hasn't reached the next victim yet? What if Giulia is still alive?"
Adrian fell silent for a long moment, then said quietly,
"Then we'll save her. Even if it costs us everything, this time, we won't be too late."
Clara nodded.
The wind tugged at her hair as she looked up at the pale gray sky.
The Mnemosyne Clinic stood behind them like a ghost that refused to fade.
Adrian started the engine.
"First Elisa, then Giulia," he said. "Let's find out what they have in common."
Clara buckled her seatbelt, staring out the window. In the rearview mirror, the clinic loomed, silent, broken, but still watching.
"Adrian," she whispered, "what if the girl is still at home? If the killer hasn't found her yet… what do we even tell her when she opens the door?"
He turned to her, serious.
"The truth," he said. "But only the part that can save her."