Shadows Between Thoughts E-Book

Rae Stonehouse

• Herausgeber: Live For Excellence Productions (LFEP)
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Serie: The Ethan Reeves Werewolf Detective Series
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 628

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2025

Beschreibung

When three ghost hunters vanish inside an abandoned maximum security hospital, Detective Ethan Reeves must confront a chilling truth – the paranormal has become real, and it's more terrifying than anyone imagined.

As Reeves delves into the hospital's dark past, he uncovers a legacy of unethical experiments and supernatural phenomena. Aided by his partner Alice Chen, the detective soon realizes the entire town of Daybridge is experiencing a reality shift, with once-impossible events becoming commonplace.

Faced with ghostly apparitions, temporal anomalies, and hints of something ancient and malevolent emerging from the spaces between thoughts, Reeves and his allies must master new ways of perceiving reality itself to solve the mystery and save the missing investigators.

But as the boundaries between possible and impossible blur, the team learns a staggering truth – that an entity has been patiently steering events from the shadows, wearing many faces as it prepares the way for a convergence that could reshape the nature of consciousness itself.

In this mind-bending thriller, nothing is as it seems, and the very fabric of reality will be tested as they race to uncover the truth before it's too late. Time is not just a dimension – it's the battlefield.

Leseprobe

SHADOWS BETWEEN THOUGHTS

THE ETHAN REEVES WEREWOLF DETECTIVE SERIES

BOOK FIVE

RAE STONEHOUSE

LIVE FOR EXCELLENCE PRODUCTIONS

CONTENTS

1. Fateful Exploration

2. Into The Darkness

3. Vanishing Point

4. The Investigation Begins

5. Bureaucratic Roadblocks

6. Warnings And Portents

7. The Archivist's Secrets

8. A Town On Edge

9. The Truth In Print

10. Crossing The Threshold

11. Echoes Of Madness

12. Between Realities

13. The Scattered Detective

14. Command And Chaos

15. A Town Transformed

16. Supernatural Adaptation

17. The Great Sundering

18. The Hidden Page

19. Whispers In The Dark

20. The Hidden Laboratory

21. The Final Threshold

22. Through The Lens Of Shattered Time

23. The Heart Of Darkness

24. The Price Of Seeing

25. Print And Shadow

26. Recalibration

27. Layered Reality

28. Convergence Points

29. The Quantum Chef

30. Echoes In Daybridge

31. The Story Between Stories

32. Networks Of The Impossible

33. Echoes Of The Infinite

34. Quantum Convergence

Epilogue: Between Shadows

A Sneak Peek at What’s Next!

Preface: A Note on Timeline Variations

Prologue: A Present Shadow

About the Author

CHAPTERONE

FATEFUL EXPLORATION

Ryan Matthews squinted at the architectural blueprints of Daybridge Maximum Security Hospital spread across his desk. The yellowed paper crinkled under his fingers as he traced the outline of Ward 7—the experimental ward where thirty-seven patients had died under mysterious circumstances. Red marks dotted the blueprint, each representing a reported supernatural occurrence he'd meticulously documented over the past three months.

The surrounding office hummed with activity. Equipment cases lined the walls, packed with the latest paranormal detection technology money could buy. After what happened in Portland, Ryan had spared no expense.

"You're obsessing again," JoJo Lang said, appearing in the doorway.

Ryan looked up to find his tech specialist balancing her custom-built laptop in one arm while adjusting her thick-rimmed glasses with the other. The gentle hum of her EMF detector filled the momentary silence between them.

"Just being thorough," he replied, rolling his shoulders to ease the tension. The scar on his neck—a jagged line where something in that Portland house had tried to tear out his throat—tingled with phantom pain.

JoJo set her laptop beside the blueprints. Her screen displayed wavelength patterns that defied conventional physics. "These readings are off the charts, Ryan. I've never seen anything like this in fifteen years of ghost hunting."

"That's what makes Daybridge different." Ryan tapped the blueprint. "This place wasn't just another asylum. The experimental ward conducted tests on patients with... unusual conditions."

JoJo leaned closer, her dark eyes reflecting the glow of her screen. "And those are just the documented deaths. Who knows how many more vanished without a trace?"

Ryan's hand unconsciously moved to the scar on his neck. Three years ago, he would have dismissed all of this as electromagnetic interference or old buildings settling. But the house in Portland had changed everything.

"The equipment's acting strange," JoJo added, lowering her voice. "Last night my primary scanner picked up voices speaking in Latin—backward Latin. I've triple-checked the recordings."

"What did they say?" Ryan asked, feeling the familiar chill that now accompanied their investigations.

JoJo pulled up an audio file. The distorted voices made Ryan's skin crawl even before she translated: "The door opens both ways."

The office door swung open as Jason Reeves entered, his young face flushed with excitement. At twenty-four, he was the newest member of their team, bringing enthusiasm that reminded Ryan of himself before Portland.

"Van's packed and ready," Jason announced, patting his jacket pocket where something made a slight metallic sound. "Double-checked all the equipment like you asked, JoJo."

Ryan studied the younger man. There was something about Jason that drew his attention—something in the way electronics sometimes malfunctioned around him, or how shadows seemed to linger in his presence. His background check had come back clean, but Ryan sensed Jason held secrets.

"Did you pack the modified thermal cameras?" Ryan asked.

"All six of them," Jason confirmed with a grin. "Plus, the EVP recorders with the quantum tunneling modifications. Everything's set."

Ryan rolled up the blueprints with methodical precision. "Then I guess it's time."

Twenty minutes later, their van pulled up at the gates of Daybridge Maximum Security Hospital. The setting sun cast the building in bloody red light, making the broken windows look like wounded eyes. Decades of neglect had transformed what was once a place of healing—or at least claimed to be—into a monument of decay.

JoJo whistled low as she gazed through the windshield. "It's bigger than I expected."

The Victorian architecture loomed against the darkening sky, its weathered gargoyles keeping silent watch. Vines crawled up the brick walls like grasping fingers, and several windows gaped open like screaming mouths.

"EMF's already active," JoJo reported from the back of the van, where she monitored their baseline readings. Her equipment chirped in protest. "Something's definitely here."

Ryan killed the engine, and silence fell over the team. The rusty sign reading "Daybridge Maximum Security Psychiatric Hospital - Est. 1887" swayed slightly in the breeze. Below it, faded red graffiti warned: "ABANDON HOPE."

"Remember," Ryan said, turning to face his team, "we stay together. No wandering off."

JoJo nodded, her fingers dancing over her equipment. "The temporal readings are unusual. It's almost like time moves differently in certain parts of the building."

"That matches the reports," Ryan confirmed. "Security guards claimed to have experienced missing time—minutes or hours gone in what felt like seconds."

As they unloaded their gear, the last rays of sunlight disappeared, plunging the hospital grounds into darkness broken only by their flashlights. Dead leaves skittered across the cracked pavement, and somewhere in the distance, a crow called out a warning.

The main entrance doors hung askew on their hinges, creating a dark opening into the building's interior. The brass handles had turned green with age.

JoJo aimed her flashlight at a second-floor window. "Did you see that?"

Ryan followed her beam. For an instant, he caught movement—a shadow, quick and deliberate, passing behind the dirty glass.

"Log it," he said, checking his watch: 7:42 PM. "Time, location, description. We document everything."

The air temperature dropped noticeably as they crossed the threshold into Daybridge Max. Their flashlight beams cut through decades of dust, revealing a stark administrative checkpoint with its bulletproof glass partition still intact. Behind it, abandoned logbooks lay open, their pages yellow with age.

The first security gate stood partially open, its heavy-duty electronic lock long dead. Beyond it lay the processing office, where new inmates were once photographed, searched, and stripped of their belongings.

"This place feels wrong," Jason whispered, his hand again touching whatever he kept in his pocket. "The air... it's too thick."

Ryan knew what he meant. Each breath felt labored, as if the air contained something beyond oxygen—something that filled the lungs but didn't satisfy them.

"Temperature's dropped twelve degrees since we entered," JoJo reported, her breath forming small clouds. "No drafts or open windows to explain it."

They moved deeper into the reception area. The institutional mint-green paint had peeled away in sheets, revealing cold gray concrete beneath. Their footsteps echoed off the bare floors, bouncing between metal gates and empty guard stations.

JoJo's equipment suddenly emitted a high-pitched whine that set their teeth on edge. "Something's generating massive energy. These readings don't make sense."

Ryan felt the familiar weight of dread settling in his stomach—the same feeling he'd experienced in Portland before all hell broke loose. He checked his equipment one last time, hands moving with practiced efficiency.

"Remember why we're here," he said quietly. "Whatever happens, we find the truth."

As they approached the second security gate leading to the main wing, Jason stopped suddenly. "Listen."

They froze. In the silence between their breathing, a soft sound emerged—like someone humming a lullaby several corridors away.

"Female voice," JoJo whispered, adjusting her directional microphone. "Coming from the east wing."

"Ward 7 is that direction," Ryan confirmed, checking the blueprint in his mind.

The second security gate, more formidable than the first, showed deep gouges near the locking mechanism, as if something had tried to claw its way through. Ryan pushed it open slowly, the hinges groaning in protest.

As the gate swung wide, the humming stopped abruptly, replaced by complete silence. Not the natural quiet of an abandoned building, but a listening silence—aware and waiting.

"I don't like this," JoJo muttered, but her hands remained steady on her equipment.

"We've got six hours before our check-in call," Ryan reminded them. "If we don't report back, our contact alerts authorities."

Jason stepped through the gate, his flashlight beam dancing across the corridor ahead. "Which way to Ward 7?"

Ryan pointed to a stairwell at the end of the hall. "Up to the second floor, then east. That's where most of the activity has been reported."

As they moved forward, Ryan noticed the shadows beginning to behave strangely—flowing against their light beams, lingering too long when they moved past. He'd seen similar phenomena in Portland right before the attacks began.

None of them noticed that their phones had all died simultaneously, screens blank except for Ryan's, which showed one final message that no one had sent:

"Welcome home."

The soft humming resumed, closer now, drawing them deeper into Daybridge's dark embrace.

* * *

CHAPTERTWO

INTO THE DARKNESS

The second-floor corridor stretched before them like an open throat, swallowing their flashlight beams in its dusty depths. Ryan led the way, his boots crunching on broken ceiling tiles. The smell hit them immediately—mildew, decay, and something else beneath those expected scents. Something chemical and vaguely medicinal that had outlasted decades of abandonment.

"Air quality's dropping," JoJo said, consulting a handheld monitor. "CO2 levels normal, but there's something else... organic compounds I can't identify."

Ryan aimed his light at the numbered doorways lining the hall. Patient rooms, most with their doors hanging open, revealed iron bed frames still bolted to the floor. Some doors remained firmly shut, as if still guarding their secrets.

"Room 213," he announced, stopping before a door marked 'RECORDS' in faded lettering. "According to the blueprints, this was the administrative hub for the second floor."

The lock gave way easily under Ryan's specialized tools. Inside, metal filing cabinets stood in neat rows, their surfaces layered with dust except for odd, swirling patterns—as if someone had recently run their fingers through it.

"Look at this," Jason called, his flashlight illuminating a large institutional desk. "These drawers are locked, but I can hear something moving inside."

Ryan approached cautiously. The desk drawer rattled slightly, like paper shifting on its own. Using a small pry bar from his pack, he forced the lock. The drawer slid open smoothly, revealing stacks of patient files that looked newer than they should.

"These can't be original," Ryan murmured, lifting a manila folder. "The paper would be more degraded after all these years."

JoJo aimed her specialized camera at the files. "Thermal imaging doesn't show anything unusual. Whatever's making them move isn't giving off heat."

Ryan opened the top file. A black-and-white photograph showed a gaunt man with hollow eyes, his patient number tattooed on his forearm like a concentration camp victim. The admission date read 1953, but the discharge column simply contained a small symbol—a circle with a line through it.

"Subject shows remarkable resilience to conventional treatment," Ryan read aloud. "Recommended for transfer to Ward F for experimental protocol 237." He flipped through more pages. "There are observations here from Dr. Marcus Blackburn about the patient's 'unusual cellular regeneration' and 'response to silver-based compounds.'"

"A werewolf?" Jason asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Ryan looked up sharply. "Why would you jump to that conclusion?"

"Silver compounds," Jason replied, his hand unconsciously touching his pocket again. "And look at the lunar cycle notations in the margins."

Ryan returned to the file. Sure enough, observations intensified around full moons, with notes about "increased agitation" and "physiological anomalies."

JoJo's EMF meter suddenly wailed, its needle swinging wildly before the display cracked, a spiderweb pattern spreading across the screen.

"What the hell?" She tapped the device, but the malfunction worsened—smoke curling from its circuits.

"Third piece of equipment to fail in the last hour," Jason noted, pulling out his personal journal. "Temperature's dropping again too."

Ryan felt it—a bone-deep chill settling over the room. His breath clouded in front of him as the temperature plummeted twenty degrees in seconds. The familiar prickling sensation traveled up his spine, identical to what he'd felt in Portland moments before all hell broke loose.

"Something's here," he whispered.

The filing cabinet nearest the door rattled violently, drawers sliding open and slamming shut in rapid succession. Papers erupted into the air, swirling in a vortex, although no wind moved through the sealed room.

"Holy shit," Jason breathed, his camera capturing the impossible scene.

Patient files opened mid-air, their contents spreading out like macabre butterflies—photographs of patients with surgical modifications, detailed notes on procedures that violated every medical ethic, mortality statistics for experiments never meant to see the light of day.

Ryan grabbed several files from the air. "Pack these up. We need evidence of what happened here."

The swirling papers abruptly stopped, freezing in mid-air for three heartbeats before dropping to the floor in perfect silence.

"Did you get that?" Ryan asked JoJo.

She nodded, her face pale in the flashlight beam. "Video and spectral analysis. But my audio recorder just died."

Jason moved to the center of the room, where the papers had created a crude arrow on the floor, pointing toward the eastern corridor. "I think it's trying to show us something."

"Or lead us into a trap," Ryan countered, though he couldn't deny his curiosity.

They followed the arrow to another junction, where the corridor split. The left passage was blocked by a collapsed ceiling, but the right led toward double doors marked 'WARD F - AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY' in faded red letters.

"Ward F isn't on the original blueprints," Ryan said, consulting his tablet. "It must have been added later, after the hospital was officially documented."

"The energy readings are strongest in that direction," JoJo confirmed, working with her backup equipment. "But there's something else... my temporal scanner is picking up anomalies. It's like time itself is distorted around Ward F."

Ryan approached the double doors. Yellow caution tape, far newer than the building itself, crisscrossed the entrance. Someone had spray-painted a warning in red: 'STAY OUT - THEY STILL LIVE HERE.'

"Recent," Ryan observed, touching the paint. "Within the last few years."

"Urban explorers?" JoJo suggested.

"Or security guards," Ryan replied. "The police reports mentioned they keep finding new warnings even though the building is supposedly abandoned."

Jason had grown quiet, his gaze fixed on the doors with uncomfortable intensity. Ryan noticed the younger man's pupils had dilated until almost no iris remained.

"Jason? You okay?"

"I can hear them," Jason whispered. "Voices. So many voices."

Ryan shared a concerned look with JoJo. "What are they saying?"

"Numbers. They're reciting numbers. Counting down from 237."

A cold draft swept through the corridor, carrying the distinct smell of antiseptic and copper—like a hospital room where blood had been spilled. One of the double doors creaked open an inch, though no one had touched it.

"I'm getting massive EMF spikes," JoJo reported, her backup meter's display fluctuating wildly. "And the temperature's dropping again—we're below freezing now."

Ryan made a quick decision. "We go in, but we stay together. Twenty minutes to document, then we pull back and review the evidence."

Beyond the double doors, Ward F stretched before them—a long corridor with observation rooms on either side. Unlike the rest of the hospital, this area showed signs of more advanced medical technology. Rusted monitoring equipment still stood at intervals, and thick cables snaked along the ceiling, connecting to devices Ryan didn't recognize.

"This wasn't just a psychiatric ward," he noted, examining an apparatus that resembled a cross between an MRI machine and an electric chair. "They were conducting experiments here."

JoJo approached a glass-walled observation room. Unlike standard patient rooms, these had reinforced glass for constant monitoring. Inside the first room, medical restraints hung from an examination table, their leather straps cracked with age but lined with what appeared to be silver threading.

"More evidence of werewolf containment?" she wondered aloud.

Jason had wandered further down the corridor, drawn to a room at the far end. "Guys," he called, his voice strangely flat. "You need to see this."

They joined him outside Room 237. Unlike the other observation rooms, this one had a solid steel door with multiple locks. The small viewing window was covered from the inside, but a faint glow emanated from the edges—a light source within the sealed room.

"That's impossible," Ryan said. "The power's been off for decades."

JoJo aimed her equipment at the door. "I'm getting readings that don't make sense. It's like the space inside that room doesn't match its external dimensions."

The door's surface had been carved with symbols that Ryan recognized from his occult research—protective sigils designed to keep something contained. The locks upon closer inspection were faced with silver.

"More containment measures," he murmured. "Whatever they kept in here, they were terrified of it getting out."

Jason's hand reached for the door handle, his movements mechanical, as if guided by an external force.

"Don't!" Ryan grabbed his wrist. "We need to be methodical."

But Jason's eyes had gone glassy, unfocused. "It's calling me," he whispered. "It knows my name."

A deep rumble shook the corridor, like distant thunder inside the building. Dust rained from the ceiling as the lights on their equipment flickered.

"Seismic activity?" JoJo wondered, checking her sensors. "No, it's localized to this ward."

The temperature dropped another ten degrees. Frost formed on the metal door of Room 237, creating intricate patterns that resembled faces locked in silent screams.

Ryan set up their most sensitive equipment—a modified spectral analyzer that could detect energy patterns across multiple frequencies. "Let's get baseline readings before we even consider opening that door."

The analyzer hummed to life, its screen displaying cascading data. Then something unexpected happened—the screen split into three separate displays, each showing different readings from the same location.

"That's not possible," JoJo breathed. "It's like the room exists in three different states simultaneously."

Jason had begun muttering under his breath, numbers again: "237, 236, 235..."

The rumbling intensified. Small objects—pens, buttons, coins—rose from the dusty floor, hovering several inches in the air before dropping again. The walls themselves seemed to breathe, expanding and contracting subtly.

Ryan recognized the signs from Portland—reality itself starting to buckle under pressure from something trying to break through. "We need to pull back," he ordered. "Right now."

"But we're just getting started," JoJo protested, gesturing to their readings.

"Trust me," Ryan insisted, the scar on his neck burning with remembered pain. "This is exactly how Portland began. We document from a distance first, then approach carefully with proper protection."

Jason remained transfixed by the door, still counting backward. "103, 102, 101..."

Ryan grabbed his shoulder. "Jason, we're leaving. Now."

The younger man turned slowly, his eyes completely black—no whites, no iris, just bottomless pupils that reflected nothing. "It's too late," he said, his voice overlaid with another, deeper tone. "We're already here."

The counting stopped at zero.

Every piece of electronic equipment they carried died simultaneously—not just powering down but physically breaking. Glass cracked on camera lenses. Circuit boards sparked and smoked. Batteries leaked acid that burned through their casings.

In the sudden darkness, the door to Room 237 swung open silently, revealing not a room but a swirling vortex of shadows. The darkness pulsed with its own heartbeat, tendrils of void reaching out into the corridor.

"Run!" Ryan shouted, grabbing both teammates and pulling them back toward the entrance.

The shadows surged after them, moving faster than physically possible. The temperature plummeted to arctic levels, their breath crystallizing in the air. The walls groaned like a ship under pressure, wooden supports cracking and metal fixtures bending inward.

They reached the double doors but found them sealed shut—fused somehow into a single barrier with no handle or hinges. Behind them, the darkness from Room 237 continued its relentless advance, consuming everything in its path.

"The windows!" JoJo pointed to the observation room glass that led to the hospital's exterior.

Ryan grabbed a metal stool and smashed it against the reinforced glass. Once, twice—on the third blow, cracks spread across the surface. The darkness was mere feet away now, close enough that Ryan felt its pull—not just on his body but on his mind, thoughts being drawn out like water down a drain.

With a final desperate effort, they crashed through the weakened glass onto a maintenance platform outside. The metal catwalk groaned beneath their weight but held. Behind them, the darkness pressed against the broken window but didn't pass through, as if contained by some invisible barrier.

"What the hell was that?" JoJo gasped, bleeding from cuts on her arms.

Ryan stared back at the writhing shadows. "I don't know. But it's different from Portland. Stronger. More focused."

Jason had collapsed against the railing. His eyes returned to normal, but his face was ashen. "It spoke to me," he whispered. "It knew things about me... about all of us."

"What things?" Ryan pressed.

"Our fears. Our secrets." Jason's hand trembled as he pulled the object from his pocket—a silver medallion inscribed with the same symbols they'd seen on Room 237's door. "It said this is why it wanted me here. My family's connection."

Ryan recognized the medallion's significance immediately—it was a protective charm used by monster hunters for generations. "You're not just a ghost hunter, are you?"

Jason met his gaze steadily. "My real name is Jason Reeves. Ethan Reeves is my cousin. Our family has been hunting supernatural creatures for centuries."

The revelation hung in the cold air between them. From inside Ward F, a low, rhythmic tapping began—like fingers drumming patiently, waiting for their return.

"We need to regroup," Ryan decided. "Get new equipment, process what we've learned, and come back prepared for whatever that thing is."

As they descended the maintenance ladder to the ground, none of them noticed the shadow that detached itself from the building to follow them—or the way it occasionally took forms that resembled their own silhouettes, learning to mimic their movements with increasing precision.

Inside Room 237, something stirred in the darkness—patient, ancient, and finally awake after decades of waiting. The countdown had reached zero, and the game had only just begun.

* * *

CHAPTERTHREE

VANISHING POINT

The maintenance ladder creaked under their weight as Ryan, JoJo, and Jason descended to the hospital grounds. Frost crystallized on the rusted metal, making each rung treacherously slick. The November air felt unnaturally still, as if the entire hospital grounds were holding its breath.

"We need to get back to the van," Ryan said, his voice tight with controlled panic. "Backup equipment, protective measures⁠—"

A sharp crack echoed through the night as the top of the ladder tore away from the building. Metal screamed against brick. Ryan grabbed JoJo's jacket with one hand and the ladder with the other as it swung away from the wall.

"Hold on!" he shouted as they dangled fifteen feet above the concrete.

Jason, already nearing the bottom, jumped clear and landed in a crouch. "Drop down! I'll catch you!"

JoJo went first, Ryan lowering her as far as he could before letting go. Jason broke her fall, both of them tumbling to the ground but uninjured. Ryan followed, hitting the earth with a roll that sent pain shooting through his shoulder.

They scrambled to their feet, staring up at the hospital. Every window on the second floor now glowed with faint blue light, though they'd confirmed the building had no power.

"That's not possible," JoJo whispered, pulling out her backup phone to document the phenomenon. The screen went black the moment she aimed it at the building. "Damn it!"

Ryan's unease deepened as he noticed something even more disturbing—the layout of the windows had changed. Where there had been evenly spaced openings, now some were closer together, others farther apart, as if the building's internal architecture was rearranging itself.

"We need to leave," he said, backing away. "Now."

They turned toward the parking area, only to freeze in confusion. The clear path they'd taken from the van had vanished, replaced by an overgrown garden of twisted topiary. Dead hedges formed a labyrinth that hadn't existed hours earlier.

"This isn't real," JoJo insisted, though her voice trembled. "It's some kind of mass hallucination."

"It's real," Jason countered, the silver medallion clutched in his hand now glowing faintly. "The hospital is changing the grounds. Trapping us."

A low moan rose from the earth beneath their feet—not wind, but something deeper, like the building itself was exhaling. The ground shuddered. Cracks raced across the concrete, forming patterns that matched the sigils on Jason's medallion.

"Run!" Ryan ordered, pointing to a gap in the hedge maze. "Head for the main gate!"

They sprinted across the fractured ground, dead branches clawing at their clothes as they pushed through the maze. Ryan led the way, trying to maintain their orientation toward the front gates, but each turn brought them facing a different angle of the hospital.

"It's herding us," Jason realized aloud. "No matter which way we turn, we're getting closer to the building."

A tremendous crash split the night as every window on the hospital's first floor shattered simultaneously. Glass rained down, but instead of falling normally, the shards hung suspended in the air for three heartbeats before shooting outward like projectiles.

"Get down!" Ryan tackled JoJo as glass knives sliced through the space where they'd stood. Jason threw himself behind a stone bench, glass embedding itself in the weathered granite.

When they looked up, the hedge maze had vanished. They were now at the hospital's main entrance, though they'd been running away from it moments before.

"What the hell is happening?" JoJo demanded, a thin line of blood trickling from a cut on her cheek.

The massive front doors swung open on silent hinges, revealing a lobby that glowed with amber light—not the decayed entrance they'd documented earlier, but a pristine reception area that looked newly constructed.

"It's showing us the past," Ryan murmured, recognition dawning. "The hospital as it was when first built."

A figure stepped into the doorway—a tall man in a white doctor's coat, his face obscured by shadow despite the warm light behind him. He raised one hand in greeting, beckoning them forward.

"We can't trust this," Ryan warned, but his words sounded distant even to his own ears.

JoJo's phone suddenly sparked to life in her hand, its screen displaying impossibly clear footage of the hospital's interior—not as it appeared now, but corridors filled with patients and staff from decades past.

"The signal's coming from inside," she said, transfixed by the images. "It's broadcasting from 1953 somehow."

The doctor in the doorway took a step forward, his features gradually becoming visible—a sharp jawline, steel-gray eyes, and a smile that didn't reach those eyes. A name tag glinted on his coat: Dr. Marcus Blackburn.

"That's impossible," Ryan breathed. "Blackburn died in 1965."

"Welcome back," the doctor called, his voice carrying an echo that seemed to come from multiple sources simultaneously. "Your rooms are waiting."

Jason made a strangled sound, the medallion in his hand now burning white-hot. "It's not Blackburn," he gasped. "It's wearing his face."

The ground beneath them lurched violently. Concrete split open in a widening crack that raced toward them from the hospital doors. The doctor—or what looked like him—continued smiling as the earth opened at his feet, revealing not soil but a bottomless void.

"Split up!" Ryan shouted as the crack forked between them. "Circle around to the van! Meet there in fifteen minutes!"

JoJo bolted left, disappearing around the west wing of the building. Jason hesitated, then sprinted right toward the old service road. Ryan turned and ran straight back, hoping to cut through the rear grounds to reach the parking area.

The sound of pursuit followed him—not footsteps, but a slithering, multi-legged skittering that gained speed with every second. Ryan didn't look back. The image of whatever chased him remained just beyond his peripheral vision, a dark mass that moved too quickly, too fluidly to be human.

He rounded the corner of the hospital's east wing and skidded to a halt. Where the rear gardens should have been stretched an operating theater—impossibly situated outdoors, surgical lights blazing down on empty tables with restraints. The scene flickered between reality and impossibility, the night sky visible through walls that shouldn't exist.

"Fascinating, isn't it?" came Blackburn's voice from behind him. "The malleability of space when certain conditions are met."

Ryan turned slowly. The doctor stood ten feet away, hands clasped behind his back, looking exactly as he had in photographs from the 1950s. But something was wrong with his movements—too smooth, as if he were gliding rather than walking. When he smiled, his teeth seemed too numerous.

"You're not real," Ryan stated, though his heart hammered against his ribs.

"Reality is relative, Mr. Matthews." The doctor's head tilted at an angle no human neck should allow. "Your experience in Portland taught you that much."

A chill ran through Ryan. "How do you know about Portland?"

"I know everything about you." Blackburn's face rippled subtly, features flowing like wax under heat. "Your fears. Your curiosity. Your desperate need to believe that what happened there had meaning."

Ryan backed away, bumping into a surgical table that shouldn't exist outdoors. "What do you want?"

"To continue my work." Blackburn gestured to the operating theater. "You and your friends are perfect subjects. Minds already opened to possibilities beyond conventional understanding."

The surgical lights intensified, blinding Ryan momentarily. When his vision cleared, the operating theater had become an actual room—he was now inside the hospital, though he'd never crossed a threshold. Blackburn stood beside an array of antiquated equipment, some of which hummed with power that made Ryan's teeth vibrate.

"The others will join us soon," Blackburn said, his voice now overlapping with other tones. "Your JoJo is having a fascinating experience with temporal perception. And young Jason... he's finally answering the call of his bloodline."

Ryan reached for his belt knife—the only weapon he carried—but his hand passed through it as if it were a hologram. His entire body felt insubstantial, caught between states of existence.

"What are you doing to me?" he demanded, voice cracking with strain.

Blackburn approached, his white coat now stained with spreading patches of darkness. "Breaking down the barriers between thought and reality. Between now and then." His face continued to shift, occasionally revealing something beneath the human facade—something with too many eyes. "Don't fight it, Mr. Matthews. You came here seeking answers about Portland. I'm giving you something far greater—participation in the next evolution of consciousness."

Ryan tried to run, but his legs moved as if through molasses. The operating room stretched and contracted around him, distances becoming meaningless. Blackburn was suddenly beside him, though he hadn't seemed to move at all.

"Your friends are experiencing their own transformations," the doctor whispered, his breath smelling of ozone and old pennies. "Would you like to see?"

The wall beside them became transparent, revealing a corridor where JoJo crouched among scattered equipment. Her cameras and sensors had multiplied, spreading across the floor like a metallic growth. Each device showed a different image—some displaying the hospital as it had been, others showing impossible architectures, still others recording what appeared to be scenes from different time periods.

JoJo stared transfixed at the conflicting footage. "It doesn't make sense," she was saying, though Ryan couldn't hear her voice. "The temporal signatures are overlapping. Past, present, and... something else."

As Ryan watched, JoJo's cameras began to change. Lenses elongated, metal casings softened and flowed like mercury. She reached out to touch one device, and it responded to her fingers, wrapping around her hand like a living thing.

"Your technologist has such an affinity for machines," Blackburn commented. "She's discovering they have affinities of their own."

The wall shifted again, now showing a different part of the hospital. Jason stood before the door to Room 237, his medallion floating before him, spinning in midair. The door had changed—the metal now carved with hundreds of symbols that crawled across its surface like living things.

"Your hunter friend carries old blood," Blackburn said. "His family has stood guard at thresholds for generations. Now he'll serve a different purpose."

The medallion's spin accelerated until it became a silver blur. Jason reached toward it, his expression a mixture of terror and fascination. As his fingers touched the whirling disc, electricity arced between them, and the door to Room 237 swung open. Beyond it lay not a room but a swirling vortex of shadows that seemed to reach out to Jason.

"Stop this!" Ryan demanded, struggling against his incorporeal state. "Let them go!"

"They came willingly," Blackburn replied, his face now barely holding its human shape. "As did you. Drawn by curiosity, by the need to know what exists beyond the veil of conventional reality." The doctor's eyes multiplied, spreading across his dissolving features. "And now you'll help us bring that reality to everyone else."

Ryan felt himself being pulled toward an operating table. Restraints that looked like flowing shadows rose to meet him. Behind Blackburn, the wall shifted again, showing the hospital grounds where three figures now stood—perfect duplicates of Ryan, JoJo, and Jason, but moving with unnatural precision.

"What are those?" Ryan gasped.

"Insurance," Blackburn answered, his voice now a chorus of overlapping tones. "Your shells will return to your world, maintaining appearances while your true selves undergo transformation."

Ryan gathered his remaining strength and focused on the silver scar on his neck—the mark left by Portland, which had connected him to whatever dwelled in that house. He felt it burn, recognizing a conflicting energy signature.

"You're not the same as Portland," he realized. "You're something else entirely."

Blackburn paused, his dissolving face showing something like surprise. "Perceptive. The Portland entity was a solitary consciousness. I am... a collaboration. A convergence of multiple awareness streams."

Ryan seized this moment of revelation. "You need willing subjects. That's why you're trying to seduce us rather than simply take us."

"Coercion creates resistance. Resistance creates imperfect integration." Blackburn's features stabilized slightly. "Your understanding makes you even more valuable."

The shadows closed around Ryan, but he focused on his Portland scar, using the conflicting energies to push back. For a moment, reality stabilized. He found himself solid again, standing in what was clearly the real operating theater—dusty, decayed, but recognizably part of the actual hospital.

Ryan fumbled for his phone. The battery was nearly dead, but he managed to open the emergency broadcast function on their ghost hunting app. He hit record, seeing the red light blink on.

"This is Ryan Matthews. Daybridge Max is not what we thought. There's an entity here, something that can wear human faces. It's trying to take us, replace us with duplicates. If you're receiving this, don't trust anything that looks like us. And whatever you do, stay away from Room 237. It's still⁠—"

The phone sparked in his hand, screen cracking in a perfect spiral pattern. The momentary stability vanished as shadows surged around him once more. Blackburn's laughing face appeared in the darkness, now sporting features that couldn't exist in three-dimensional space.

"Brave, but futile," the entity said. "Your warning will only bring more curious minds for us to explore."

The operating theater dissolved around Ryan. He caught one last glimpse of JoJo surrounded by writhing technology, of Jason being pulled into the vortex behind Room 237's door. Then darkness consumed his vision entirely.

His last conscious thought was a desperate hope that someone would find his message—and have the wisdom to heed it.

The security guard found their equipment the next morning, scattered across the hospital's front parking area as if thrown from a great height. Cameras with shattered lenses. EMF meters with their circuitry melted. A phone playing the same five seconds of video on loop—Ryan Matthews turning toward something off-camera, his expression changing from confusion to horrified recognition before dissolving into static.

The authorities established a perimeter, but initial searches found no trace of the three ghost hunters inside Daybridge Max. The only evidence of their presence was a message scratched into the wall near the entrance:

"IT WEARS OUR FACES TO MAKE US TRUST IT."

As police expanded their search to the surrounding grounds, no one noticed the three figures watching from the tree line—perfect replicas of Ryan, JoJo, and Jason, but moving with synchronous precision, their eyes reflecting light at impossible angles. They observed the search for several minutes before turning in unison and walking away with movements too fluid to be human.

Inside Room 237, something stirred in the darkness—patient, ancient, and hungry for more curious minds to explore. The door remained open just a crack, waiting.

* * *

CHAPTERFOUR

THE INVESTIGATION BEGINS

Detective Ethan Reeves set down his coffee mug harder than intended, leaving a dark ring on the case file. Morning sunlight streamed through his office blinds, catching dust motes and casting striped shadows across three photographs. The missing persons report had seemed routine until he saw the third face staring back at him.

"Jason Reeves," he whispered, his voice barely audible even to his own enhanced hearing.

The wolf stirred beneath his skin—not a physical transformation, but the heightened awareness that came with his dual nature. His senses sharpened automatically: the coffee smell intensified, the distant conversations from the bullpen clarified, and the photograph of his cousin seemed to pulse with wrongness.

A soft knock interrupted his thoughts. Detective Alice Chen entered without waiting for a response, a habit that would have irritated Ethan with anyone else. Her dark hair was pulled back in a practical ponytail, and she carried a tablet loaded with case notes.

"You saw the file," she said, studying his expression. It wasn't a question.

"Why didn't you tell me immediately?" Ethan asked, controlling the growl that threatened to enter his voice.

"I only connected the names an hour ago." Alice set her tablet on his desk, revealing more photos of the abandoned hospital. "Jason Reeves isn't exactly an uncommon name. I had to confirm it was your cousin."

Ethan picked up Jason's photograph again. The young man smiled confidently at the camera, a ghost hunter's badge visible on his jacket. "He never told me he was working with a paranormal investigation team."

Alice's expression softened—a rarity for his usually stoic partner. "When was the last time you spoke with him?"

"Three months ago. Family dinner." Ethan rubbed his temples, feeling the beginnings of a headache. "He asked questions about... our family history. Seemed more interested than usual."

Alice didn't press. She knew enough about Ethan's supernatural heritage to understand the complicated dynamics of werewolf families, especially ones with a hunting lineage like the Reeves clan.

"Margaret Matthews is waiting in Interview Room Two," she said, changing the subject. "Mother of Ryan Matthews, the team leader."

Ethan nodded, composing himself with visible effort. "What do we know about the other missing hunter?"

"JoJo Lang, tech specialist. Twenty-eight, MIT dropout, been with Matthews' team for three years." Alice swiped through files on her tablet. "No family has come forward yet. Roommate reported her missing when she didn't return from the Daybridge expedition."

"And the investigation site?" Ethan asked, though he already knew the answer from the case file.

"Daybridge Maximum Security Hospital. Abandoned since 1965." Alice's voice took on a clinical tone that didn't quite mask her unease. "The place has a reputation. Local legends about patients vanishing, orderlies found speaking in tongues, doctors conducting unauthorized experiments."

Ethan stood, adjusting his shoulder holster. The wolf's instincts pushed against his human restraint, urging him to hunt immediately, to track his pack member. "Let's talk to Mrs. Matthews."

Margaret Matthews sat perfectly straight in the metal chair, her hands clasped on the table before her. Silver threaded through her auburn hair, and shadows beneath her eyes spoke of sleepless nights. She looked up as the detectives entered, hope flashing briefly across her face before settling back into resigned worry.

"Mrs. Matthews," Ethan began, taking the seat across from her. "I'm Detective Reeves, and this is my partner, Detective Chen. We're handling your son's case."

"It's been seventy-two hours," she said without preamble. "The police say they can't enter that... that hospital without permits. Something about structural hazards." Her fingers trembled slightly. "My son is in there."

"We understand your frustration," Alice said, sitting beside Ethan. "We're prioritizing this investigation."

Margaret's gaze fixed on Ethan. "Your name—Reeves. Any relation to Jason?"

Ethan nodded. "He's my cousin."

"Ryan spoke highly of him. Said he had 'old knowledge' that would help their investigation." She reached into her purse and removed a small flash drive. "This contains everything from Ryan's home office. His research, theories, previous investigations."

Alice connected the drive to her tablet. "Mrs. Matthews, when did your son's interest in the paranormal begin?"

"After Portland." Margaret's voice hardened. "Two years ago, Ryan investigated a haunted house there. He went in a skeptic." She pulled out her phone, showing them a photograph of Ryan in a hospital bed, a distinctive scar across his neck. "Came out... different."

Ethan felt the wolf stir again, recognizing the mark of something supernatural. The scar wasn't just a physical wound—it carried an energy signature his enhanced senses could detect even through a photograph.

"Different how?" he asked.

"He could see things others couldn't. Sense presences." Margaret put her phone away. "The doctors diagnosed PTSD, but Ryan said Portland had 'opened his eyes.' He started gathering evidence about supernatural phenomena, focusing on places with high concentrations of unexplained events."

"Like Daybridge Max," Alice noted.

"It became an obsession." Margaret pulled out a key from her pocket. "This is to his office. It's... unusual. You should see it for yourselves."

As she placed the key on the table, her sleeve pulled back, revealing a small protective charm bracelet. Ethan recognized the symbols—common wards against supernatural influence. Margaret noticed his gaze and quickly covered the bracelet.

"Did Ryan give you that?" Ethan asked, nodding toward her wrist.

"Yes. He insisted I wear it after he started investigating Daybridge Max." She hesitated. "Detective Reeves, do you... believe in such things?"

The question hung in the air between them. Ethan felt Alice's attention shift to him, curious about how he would respond.

"I believe your son encountered something in Portland that changed him," he said carefully. "And I believe we'll find him and the others."

Margaret seemed to accept this non-answer. "They were broadcasting live on their channel when they disappeared. This was their last transmission."

She pulled up a video on her tablet. The footage was grainy, shot in night vision. Ryan's voice came through clearly at first:

"We're entering the administrative section now. The EMF readings are off the charts..." Static interference cut through the audio. "... something's wrong with the equipment..." More static, then JoJo's voice: "These energy signatures... they're not normal..." Then Jason: "There's something in here with⁠—"

The video cut to black.

"That was three nights ago," Alice said, checking the timestamp.

"During the full moon," Margaret added, giving Ethan a meaningful look that suggested she knew more about supernatural phenomena than she was letting on.

Ethan felt a chill that had nothing to do with the room's temperature. The full moon would have heightened his cousin's latent werewolf traits—not enough for a transformation in someone who hadn't activated the gene, but enough to make him more sensitive to supernatural energies.

"Mrs. Matthews," Ethan said, leaning forward. "We'll need access to all Ryan's research on Daybridge Max. Every detail, no matter how small."

"As I said, it's all in his office." She stood, gathering her purse. "Detective Reeves... find my son. Even if—" She stopped, composing herself. "Even if what you find isn't what you expect."

After Margaret left, Alice closed the door. "You're not telling me everything. What happened in Portland?"

Ethan pulled out an old case file he'd requested from archives. "Two years ago, Ryan Matthews investigated a haunted house in Portland. According to the official report, he sustained injuries from a structural collapse."

He showed her the photograph of Ryan's distinctive scar. "But this isn't from falling debris. This is a supernatural marker—something tried to claim him."

Alice studied the image. "And Daybridge Max?"

"It's not just any abandoned hospital," Ethan replied, pulling up the building's history on his computer. "It was a maximum-security facility for the criminally insane, but the restricted wings housed something else. The kind of experiments that leave marks on reality itself."

"And your cousin?"

Ethan's jaw tightened. "Jason always wanted to be part of this world—the supernatural, the unexplained. I kept him away to protect him." Guilt flashed across his features. "He's only nineteen, Alice."

"We'll find them," she assured him, but her expression remained serious. "But Ethan, you should know—Daybridge has a history with your kind. In the 1950s, there were reports of werewolf patients being held there for study."

Ethan stared through his office window at the hospital visible on the distant hillside, its gothic spires jutting against the morning sky like accusing fingers. Something moved behind one of the barred windows—a shadow where no shadow should be.

"Then we better hope they're still alive," he said, his eyes flickering gold for a moment, revealing the predator within. "Because if they're not, Daybridge is going to learn why you never harm a werewolf's family."

Ryan Matthews' home office felt wrong the moment they entered. Not just the expected disarray of a workspace belonging to someone obsessed with the paranormal—this was something else. The air felt thicker, charged with residual energy that made Ethan's werewolf senses prickle in warning.

The walls were covered with maps, photographs, and red string connecting seemingly unrelated incidents. A large monitor displayed a 3D model of Daybridge Max, rotating slowly to reveal architectural anomalies highlighted in red.

"This isn't just research," Alice said, examining a shelf of modified equipment. "He was preparing for war."

Ethan nodded, his enhanced senses cataloging details a human would miss: the faint ozone smell of activated protection wards, the subtle temperature variations around certain artifacts, the barely audible hum emanating from a locked cabinet in the corner.

"Look at this," he said, pointing to a wall dedicated to the Portland incident. Newspaper clippings, medical reports, and photographs surrounded a central image—a house that seemed to shift slightly when viewed from different angles, as if it existed in multiple states simultaneously.

Alice examined the documents. "According to these notes, whatever Ryan encountered in Portland was just a fragment of something larger. He believed there were connections between supernatural hotspots across the country."

"Including Daybridge Max," Ethan confirmed, finding a map with red pins marking locations nationwide. Each pin connected back to the hospital with red thread, forming a web with Daybridge at its center.

They moved to Ryan's computer, finding it unlocked and still running multiple analysis programs. Data scrolled across the screen—energy readings from previous investigations, compared against patterns detected at Daybridge.

"He was looking for a signature," Alice realized, studying the algorithms. "Some kind of energy fingerprint that connected these locations."

Ethan opened a drawer containing hard drives labeled with investigation dates. The most recent, marked "Daybridge Preliminary," contained footage from an initial scouting trip to the hospital.

They watched as Ryan documented strange phenomena even outside the building: shadows moving against light sources, equipment malfunctions, temperature drops that formed visible frost in summer heat.

"He knew something was there," Ethan said. "Something waiting."

The recovered equipment from the missing team sat in evidence boxes they'd brought from the station. Ethan opened them carefully, his enhanced senses detecting residual energy clinging to the damaged devices.

"The cameras are completely destroyed," Alice noted, examining a crushed lens. "But the memory cards might be salvageable."

She connected one to Ryan's computer. Most files were corrupted beyond recovery, but a few images remained intact—though "intact" hardly described their disturbing content.

The first showed a corridor that seemed to bend at impossible angles. The second captured JoJo examining a wall where shadows formed distinct human silhouettes despite no one being present to cast them. The third image made both detectives pause: Jason standing before a door marked "237," his hand reaching for the handle while multiple transparent figures surrounded him, their features distorted beyond recognition.

"What the hell is that?" Alice whispered.

Ethan's phone buzzed before he could answer. A text message from an unknown number showed a single image—security camera footage from inside Daybridge Max, timestamped ten minutes ago. In it, three figures could be seen moving through a corridor, but their shapes were wrong, distorted, as if something else was wearing their faces.

The message below read: "They're still here. But they're not alone anymore."

Alice looked over his shoulder at the image. "That's impossible. The hospital's security system has been offline for decades."

"Someone wants us to investigate," Ethan said, saving the image. "Or something does."

He moved to the locked cabinet in the corner, using his enhanced strength to break the lock when the key from Margaret wouldn't work. Inside, they found what Ryan had been working on before his disappearance: a makeshift arsenal of weapons designed to combat supernatural entities.

Silver-edged knives. Iron filings in sealed containers. UV light emitters. Vials of what smelled like blessed oil. And, most concerning, a journal detailing Ryan's contingency plans if he didn't return from Daybridge Max.

The final entry, dated the night before his disappearance, read: "If something happens to us, DO NOT TRUST ANYTHING THAT COMES OUT OF THAT HOSPITAL WEARING OUR FACES. The entity can mimic appearance but not essence. Jason's medallion is our only advantage—it can disrupt the mimicry temporarily. God help us if we fail."

Ethan closed the journal, decision made. "We're going in."

"The captain won't authorize it," Alice reminded him. "Daybridge Max is officially off-limits without structural engineering clearance."

"Then we don't ask for authorization." Ethan gathered several items from Ryan's arsenal. "Jason is my blood. In my world, when someone takes a wolf's family member, they face the entire pack."

Alice checked her service weapon, making sure it was loaded. "When do we start?"

"Tonight," Ethan replied, studying the lunar calendar on Ryan's wall. "The moon is still full enough. I'll need my wolf's senses in there."

As they prepared to leave, Ethan's phone buzzed again. Another text from the unknown number, this time showing three figures entering the hospital—himself, Alice, and a third person he didn't recognize.

The message below sent a chill through his human and wolf senses alike:

"The door opens both ways. They're waiting for you."

* * *

CHAPTERFIVE

BUREAUCRATIC ROADBLOCKS

Detective Alice Chen strode through the Paranormal Defense Unit headquarters with Ethan close behind. Unlike the weathered brick of the main police precinct, the PDU occupied a deceptively ordinary glass and steel office building downtown. Only the subtle protective sigils etched into the foundation stones and the security guards with silver-lined badges hinted at its true purpose.

The lobby's overhead lights hummed at a frequency that made Ethan's enhanced hearing uncomfortable. He'd visited the PDU before—unavoidable given his nature—but always felt like an outsider here, simultaneously an asset and a potential threat in the eyes of the organization tasked with managing supernatural phenomena.

"Detective Chen, Detective Reeves," the receptionist greeted them with practiced neutrality. "Captain Dixon is expecting you. Twelfth floor."

The elevator ride was silent. Alice reviewed case notes on her tablet while Ethan focused on controlling his growing agitation. The wolf within him responded to his cousin's disappearance with primal urgency—find pack, protect blood, hunt threats. Professional procedure felt like chains restraining him from what he should be doing.

"Dixon won't make this easy," Alice said as they approached floor twelve. "He'll cite regulations, jurisdictional boundaries, risk assessments."

"I don't care about easy," Ethan replied. "I care about finding Jason."

Captain John Dixon looked up from his desk as they entered, his expression hardening at the sight of Ethan. Silver charms clinked softly on his wrist—standard issue for PDU leadership when dealing with supernatural consultants.

"I wondered when you'd show up, Reeves," Dixon said, closing a file marked "Classification: Omega." "Three civilians entering a known paranormal hot zone without clearance or backup. This isn't just a missing persons case anymore."

"One of them is my cousin," Ethan replied, his voice tight with controlled anger. "And Ryan Matthews is one of yours."

Something shifted in Dixon's demeanor. "Ex-PDU. Ryan was discharged after Portland. Medical leave turned into resignation." He pulled out a thick file and slid it across the desk. "But you're right—this is our jurisdiction. Especially given what we've picked up on our monitoring equipment."

Alice stepped forward. "What kind of readings?"

Dixon activated a holographic display above his desk. Red lines spiked across the graph in patterns that made Ethan's wolf instincts howl in recognition. He'd seen similar energy signatures during particularly dangerous supernatural encounters.

"Energy signatures from Daybridge have increased three hundred percent since those kids entered," Dixon explained. "Whatever's in there is feeding off their presence." He looked directly at Ethan. "And before you do anything stupid, Reeves, you should know—we've lost four agents inside Daybridge Max over the years. The last team went in 2019. We found their equipment three days later. Just their equipment."

"Then give us official backup," Alice argued. "A full PDU team."

"Can't. Won't." Dixon shook his head. "After the 2019 incident, Daybridge was classified as a Level 5 containment zone. We maintain the perimeter, monitor for breaches, but direct engagement is prohibited without federal approval."

Ethan's eyes flashed gold—a momentary lapse in his usually perfect control. "They could be dying in there."

"They're probably already dead," Dixon said bluntly. "And if they're not, they might be something worse by now. Daybridge Max doesn't just kill people, Reeves. It changes them."

He pulled up another file on his screen—security footage from a camera pointed at the hospital. Three figures moved past a window, but their movements were wrong—jerky, inhuman, unsettling. "This was captured twelve hours ago. Face recognition matched their general profiles, but the biometric readings..." He paused. "They don't register as human anymore."

Alice studied the footage. "Those energy spikes—they're similar to the Portland incident?"

Dixon's face darkened. "Worse. Portland was a single entity using the house as a vessel. Daybridge Max is different. Decades of unethical experiments, hundreds of deaths, both natural and supernatural victims. The building isn't just haunted—it's become a nexus point. A wound in reality."

"Then help us close it," Ethan growled.

"You don't close a wound like this," Dixon replied. "You contain it. The PDU's official position is that Daybridge Max remains sealed. No rescue attempts. No investigations." He looked at them both, his expression softening slightly. "Unofficially..."

He reached into his desk and pulled out a key card and a small device that pulsed with a soft blue light. "This is Dr. Blackburn's security pass. Still works, according to our intel. And this..." He held up the device. "Prototype reality anchor. Might help stabilize local space-time enough to get you out if things go wrong. But if you take these, this conversation never happened. The PDU will disavow any knowledge. You'll be on your own."

"Not entirely," came a voice from the doorway.

They turned to see a tall woman in tactical gear, her right arm marked with ritual scars that Ethan recognized as protection sigils. Her dark hair was pulled back in a severe bun, and her eyes held the haunted look of someone who'd seen too much of the supernatural world and survived to remember it.

"Agent Rivera," Dixon sighed. "You're suspended pending review."

"Then I'm acting as a private citizen," Rivera replied, stepping into the office. Her gaze locked with Ethan's, one predator recognizing another. "Ryan Matthews was my partner for three years. I was there in Portland. I saw what it did to him." She faced Ethan and Alice directly. "I'm coming with you."

Dixon looked between them, then nodded slowly. "I'll give you a twelve-hour window. After that, the PDU will lock down Daybridge with extreme prejudice. Whatever's inside, whoever's inside... they stay there. Understood?"

Ethan took the key card and reality anchor. "Twelve hours."

As they left Dixon's office, Rivera fell into step beside them. The scars on her arm pulsed faintly—active protective magic, not just decorative.

"There's something else you should know," she said quietly, leading them to a secure room at the end of the hallway. Inside, monitors displayed various angles of Daybridge Max, each showing subtly different versions of the same building. "Ryan wasn't just investigating Daybridge Max. He was obsessed with Room 237. Said he found references to it in the Portland entity's memories. He believed all these sites were connected—Portland, Daybridge, others. Part of something bigger."

"What was in Portland?" Alice asked.

Rivera's hand unconsciously touched a scar on her neck—like the one they'd seen on Ryan's photograph, but smaller, as if she'd escaped whatever had fully marked him. "We thought we were dealing with a standard haunting. We were wrong." She entered a code into a secure terminal, bringing up classified files. "Ryan... he saw something in that house. Something that showed him the truth about places like Daybridge Max. He said they weren't just buildings where bad things happened. They were built to be doorways."

"Doorways to what?" Ethan demanded.

Rivera checked her specialized weapons—firearms modified with supernatural countermeasures that the regular police department couldn't access. "That's what Ryan went to find out. And now we have less than twelve hours to reach him before the PDU seals those doors forever—with us inside or out."

One of the monitors showed a time-lapse of Daybridge Max over the past week. Subtle changes appeared in the architecture—windows moving positions, doors appearing where none had existed before, the entire east wing shifting two degrees clockwise.

"The building's reconfiguring itself," Alice noted.

"It's been doing that since the ghost hunters went in," Rivera confirmed. "The changes are accelerating. Whatever they awakened in there is gaining strength."

"What can we expect inside?" Ethan asked, studying the monitors.

"Based on previous encounters?" Rivera pulled up footage from the 2019 expedition. "Spatial anomalies. Rooms that shouldn't exist. Corridors that lead back to themselves. Time distortions." She paused the footage where a PDU agent stood frozen in mid-stride, surrounded by blurred figures. "And entities that can manipulate perception. They make you see things—people you know, trust, fear—to lure you deeper."

Alice examined the equipment Rivera was gathering. "That's not standard PDU issue."

"Special modifications," Rivera explained, handing her a device that resembled a compass. "This detects reality fluctuations. When the needle spins clockwise, you're heading toward a stable zone. Counterclockwise means danger." She passed Ethan what looked like a silver-lined flashlight. "UV spectrum enhancer. Reveals entities hiding in visual blind spots."

While Rivera continued gathering equipment, Ethan pulled Alice aside. "What's your read on her?"

Alice watched Rivera efficiently checking weapons. "She's hiding something. But she genuinely wants to find Ryan." She lowered her voice further. "And she's scared of that building. Really scared."

Their phones buzzed simultaneously. The same anonymous number: "The doors swing both ways. But not all who enter remain themselves. Room 237 remembers you, Agent Rivera. It's been waiting for you to return."

Rivera's expression remained neutral when they showed her the message, but Ethan's enhanced senses detected her heart rate spiking.

"You've been there before," he realized. "Not just Portland. Daybridge Max."

"2019," she admitted after a moment. "I was part of the team. The only one who made it out." She rolled up her sleeve, revealing more extensive scarring than they'd initially seen—ritualistic patterns carved into her skin. "These weren't by choice. The hospital... marked me."

"Why didn't Dixon mention this?" Alice asked.