Chapter 2: The Accomplice

The dead man blinked.

I turned away fast. Scrubbed my hair. Hummed off-key—the way Lin always did in the shower.

*He knows I'm not her. He knows I saw.*

Water ran cold. I stayed under until my fingers wrinkled. Until the door clicked shut.

They were gone.

I dressed slow. Blind. Fumbling buttons, missing holes. The performance of a lifetime with an audience of two.

The living room smelled like bleach and lies.

Wang Tao's body was gone. Suitcase too. Only a dark stain on the laminate remained, half-mopped, smeared into the shape of a footprint.

Small. Size six. Not his.

*The second man.*

I found my phone on the counter. Dead. Water in the charging port.

But the screen still glowed.

*One new message.*

*From: Lin*

*"I'm downstairs. Elevator broken. Walking up."*

Eight flights. Ten minutes. Maybe less.

I moved.

Kitchen first. Knife block—empty. Drawers—ransacked. They were looking for something. The red notebook? I didn't know what it was, but they wanted it badly enough to kill.

Or pretend to kill.

I checked the window. Fire escape. Locked from outside.

Front door. Chain latch. I reached for it—

"Going somewhere?"

The robot voice. Behind me.

I didn't turn. "Fresh air. It's stuffy."

Footsteps circled. Slow. Testing my blind spot.

A hand grabbed my wrist. Hard. Fingers digging into the bone I broke at twelve—the scar Lin always traced when she thought I was asleep.

"You're not Jiang Lin." The voice was human now. Low. Tired. "She has a birthmark. Right shoulder. Crescent moon."

I said nothing.

His thumb pressed harder. "I checked. While you showered."

*The second test. Failed.*

But he didn't kill me. Didn't even raise his voice.

"Sit." He pushed me to the couch. "We need to talk. Before your sister arrives."

I sat. Hands folded. Blind stare fixed on the wall.

He laughed. Bitter. "Stop performing. I know you can see."

Silence.

Then I looked at him.

Really looked.

Black hair. Gray at the temples. Forty-five, maybe fifty. The disinfectant smell—hospital soap, not cleaning supplies. And his hands. Surgeon's hands. Steady even now.

"I taught you to walk," he said. "Your first steps. You don't remember. You were two."

My throat closed.

"I left," he continued. "Your mother's husband found out. Rich men don't share. I became a ghost. But I watched. Both of you."

He pulled something from his pocket. A photo. Yellowed. Two toddlers on a beach. One holding the other's hand.

Twins.

Except—

"They're identical," I said.

"They were." He tapped the photo. "You had surgery at three months. Cleft palate. The scar faded. Lin's didn't—she refused the second operation. Wanted to be different."

I touched my upper lip. Smooth. Normal.

*I was the copy. The replacement. The one who could pass.*

"Why are you here?" I asked.

"Same as you." He leaned close. I smelled tobacco under the soap. Old habit, recently broken. "The notebook. Lin records everything. Every session. Every secret."

"Session?"

"She's not just blind." He smiled. Sad. Proud. "She's a predator. Finds broken people, fixes them, keeps the pieces. Your 'murder'? Ten years ago? She planted the memory. You were her first project."

The door buzzer rang.

Lin. Early.

He stood fast. "She can't find me here. She thinks I'm dead too."

"Too?"

But he was already moving. Not to the door—to the balcony. Fire escape. He'd unlocked it from inside.

"Wang Tao," I said. "The body. He was breathing."

He paused on the ledge. Rain starting. October cold.

"Wang Tao died three months ago. Car accident." He pulled up his collar. "The man in the suitcase? His brother. Looking for answers. Same as me."

"Then who—"

"Is pretending to be him?" He smiled. Wet teeth. "Your sister's new project. She doesn't cure people. She becomes them."

He dropped over the rail. Gone.

The buzzer rang again. Longer. Impatient.

I walked to the door. Blind again. Slow. Counting steps I didn't need to count.

Peeked through the fisheye.

Lin. Alone. Sunglasses. White cane. Perfect victim.

*Perfect predator.*

I opened the door.

"Sis," she said. Arms out. Hugging air. "I missed you. Why didn't you tell me you were visiting?"

Her hand found my shoulder. Traced the scar. The one only she knew about.

Then she whispered, warm breath in my ear:

"Where's Dad? I saw him on the stairs."