Evan was sitting on the steps of the police station. Not hiding. Not pacing.
Just sitting there, hands folded loosely between his knees, like someone waiting for a late bus.
The streetlights painted his face pale gold. He looked smaller at night. Quieter. Like the city had already decided how easily it could erase him.
Noah saw him the moment he stepped out of his car.
His heart stopped.
Then started again, violently.
He crossed the road without thinking.
"Evan."
Evan looked up.
Relief crossed his face first. Then something heavier.
"I was hoping it would be you."
Noah stopped a few feet away. Close enough to touch. Too far to breathe normally.
"You disappeared from a hospital."
"I know."
"You scared me half to death."
"I know."
Silence stretched thin between them.
Evan spoke first.
"I had a dream."
Noah's jaw tightened.
"Don't."
"Please."
His voice was quiet. Not dramatic. Worse...steady.
"I dreamed I was standing in a room with no windows. And there was blood on my hands. And I didn't feel anything about it."
Noah swallowed.
"I woke up thinking… if there's even a chance that I could become that person…"
He lifted his eyes.
"…then you shouldn't be protecting me from myself."
Noah's voice came out rough. "What are you saying?"
"I came to turn myself in."
The words were soft.
They shattered anyway.
Noah stepped closer. "You're not a killer."
Evan shook his head. "You don't know that."
"I do."
"You want to."
Noah ran a hand through his hair, pacing once like a caged animal.
"You think prison is going to fix your nightmares?"
"I think I'm dangerous."
"You're sick."
"Same thing, sometimes."
Noah stopped. Looked at him. Really looked.
Tired eyes.
Shaking hands.
A man carrying guilt that didn't belong to him.
"…Come inside," Noah said quietly.
Evan stood.
Walked with him through the doors.
The interrogation room felt different when the suspect walked in willingly.
No cuffs. No resistance. Just Evan sitting on the cold metal chair, hands folded, eyes fixed on the table.
Noah closed the door. The glass reflected them back—cop and almost-lover. Protector and possible threat.
Noah sat across from him. Turned on the recorder. His hand hesitated. Then clicked.
"State your name."
"Evan Kale."
"Why did you come here tonight?"
"Because people die after I know things."
Noah leaned forward.
"How?"
Evan shook his head.
"I don't know."
"No. You always know something."
"I swear I don't."
"Do you see faces?"
"No."
"Locations?"
"Sometimes."
"How?"
"I don't know."
Noah's voice hardened.
"Where does the information come from?"
Evan's breath shook.
"It just… arrives."
"That's not an answer."
"I don't have another one."
Noah slammed his palm lightly on the table.
"Evan."
Evan flinched. Tears burned but didn't fall.
"I don't want this," he whispered. "I don't want to be this thing you're chasing."
Noah closed his eyes.
Just for a second. When he opened them, the room felt colder.
Then the lights flickered. Once...Twice...
The recorder crackled.
And Evan stiffened.
Hard. Like a wire pulled tight inside him. His hand flew to his chest.
"Noah…"
Noah stood instantly. "What is it?"
Evan's pupils dilated.
His breathing shattered into sharp, broken gasps.
"It's happening."
"What is?"
"He's close."
Noah froze.
"Who?"
Evan's head snapped up.
Eyes unfocused.
Voice empty.
"The one who makes the silence."
The building lost power.
Darkness swallowed the room.
Emergency lights failed to turn on.
Screams echoed down the corridor.
Somewhere, glass shattered.
And in the dark hallway outside the interrogation room, footsteps moved calmly.
Unhurried. Certain.
The Hunter had come to claim his prophet.
And Noah was standing between them.