Inside the studio, the canvas in front of Edrick was no longer blank.

Brushstrokes had appeared overnight—slow, deliberate—as if an invisible hand had waited for him to fall asleep.

Now it showed what he had never wanted to see.

Lira.
 Wearing the Harlequin’s mask.
 Stabbing him.

He lay on the floor.
 Eyes open.
 Bleeding.

Beside the painted scene, in red letters:

“Scene One: The Lie.”

Edrick didn’t look away.

“He wants me to believe she’ll betray me,” he murmured.
 “Or that she already has.”

Lira, in the ruins of her childhood home, had opened another box.

Inside: a diary.

But she didn’t remember ever writing it.

She turned the pages.

The handwriting was childish. Careful.

“Today the masked man said Edrick won’t remember.
 But I will. Always.”

She flipped faster.

Each sentence stung.
 Each word… poisoned.

At the end, a drawing.

Two children.

Her—with white hair.

Him—with dark.

Lira covered her mouth.

It was Edrick.

And yet…
 they’d only met as adults.
 Hadn’t they?

A vision struck her like thunder.

She and Edrick—children—sitting in a grey garden.

A masked figure watching them from a distance.

Lira turned toward Edrick and whispered:

“If everything goes wrong,
 I want you to forget me.”

Elsewhere, Edrick’s phone rang.

No caller ID.

A voice answered.

Metallic. Masked.

“Scene Two: The Cry.”

He followed the instructions.
 An alley.
 A woman lying on the ground.
 Wounded. Bleeding.

She looked at him with Lira’s eyes.

“Why… did she… leave me… in the fire…”

And died.

Beneath her, torn paper.

A miniature Harlequin mask.

With Lira’s features.

Lira, back in her refuge, found a second envelope.

Inside: a stage script page, its edges scorched.

“Scene Three: The Choice.”
 “Which of you is the liar?
 Which holds the key…
 and which the knife?”

She stopped.

On the floor: two small canvases.

One depicted her.

The other—Edrick.

But now, new brushstrokes appeared.

A stage.
 Two figures at the center.

And high above them, in the royal box…

The Harlequin.

Applauding.

Slowly.

Silently.

The script wasn’t finished.

But it was already choking them.