Deep in the dark forest, a faint beam of light broke through the intertwined branches of the trees — two flashlights held by two men. It was Emmet and Casey. Having heard a strange noise coming from the thicket, they decided to check its source, but instead, they got lost in the endless undergrowth.

While Alex and Saga were searching for a way to open the Fold, Emmet and Casey wandered through the gloomy forest, trying in vain to find their way back to the crime scene and then reach the Witch’s Ladle.

No matter how many paths they took, it seemed the forest itself refused to let them go. Even Emmet — a vampire with heightened senses — couldn’t find his bearings. Around them hung an oppressive silence, no rustle, no breath of wind. Everything was frozen still.

Irritation grew between them.

“We’re walking the same damn path we came from! Why are we back at this cursed tree again?” Casey snapped, flashing his light around angrily.

“Why are you asking me, Casey?” Emmet grumbled. “I’m just as annoyed. First time in my life I’ve ever been lost in a forest. I grew up in a family of hunters — spent my childhood wandering the mountains. But to actually get lost? That’s a first.”

“I’m not asking you, I’m asking the damn universe!” Casey barked. “Maybe call your mysterious partner and ask him what the hell is going on? We walked the exact same trail!”

Emmet thought for a moment, then pulled out his phone to call Alex. But before he could dial, the screen blinked — a message appeared.

Sender: Rosalie.Message: Turn on the light, idiot.

Emmet frowned. He already had a flashlight in his hand, but a second later it hit him. Of course. This forest was under the influence of the Darkness — part of Alan Wake’s story. To escape, they needed real light.

He pocketed his phone, took out a flare from his jacket, and struck the igniter. Flames burst to life with a bright red glow, casting flickering reflections across the tree trunks. Casey stepped back, unsure what Emmet was doing.

“And what’s that supposed to mean?” Casey asked, squinting.

“Just follow me while the flare burns,” Emmet replied calmly. “The darkness won’t let us leave this forest. So we go toward the light.”

Casey snorted skeptically but followed anyway. Under the reddish glow of the flare, the forest felt less hostile. They walked along the familiar trail, but this time, something had changed — step by step, the trees began to part, and soon they emerged into an open space. Before them lay the path leading back to the crime scene.

Casey stopped and exhaled heavily.”Damn mysticism… This forest is driving me insane. Everything just keeps getting crazier and crazier.”

“At least we didn’t vanish like Sheriff Breaker,” Emmet chuckled, moving ahead. “If I vanished, my wife would definitely kill me.”

“You’re married?” Casey asked, surprised. “For long?”

“Feels like a hundred years,” Emmet replied with a faint smile. “We met on a hunt. When I first saw her… I thought an angel was standing in front of me.”

“Good for you,” Casey muttered darkly. “My ex took everything — the house, the car, even the dog. At least she left me my name, though honestly, I’d have given that up too.”

Emmet smirked.”Oh right, your name — same as the character from Alan Wake’s books. Alex Casey, the detective. You’re Alex Casey, the FBI agent. Maybe you should give me an autograph?”

“Don’t start,” Casey groaned, rolling his eyes. “I’m sick of everyone comparing me to that fictional character. Last thing I need is fans.”

“I’m not a fan,” Emmet said with a grin. “My wife is. She’s got a whole shelf of Wake’s books. Sometimes she makes me read them with her — says it’s ‘quality time together.’ Though I’ll admit, a few of them weren’t half bad.”

They continued walking, the fading light of the flare illuminating their way. Though darkness began to thicken again behind them, this time the forest let them go.

Hearing Emmet’s words, Casey couldn’t help but grin, picturing a tough guy like Emmet sitting next to his wife, reading books just to spend time with her.

They kept walking down the trail leading to the crime scene. Thanks to the flare, the darkness around them receded, and the path ahead was clear. Emmet and Casey talked the whole way, getting to know each other a little better.

A few minutes later, they emerged from the forest and found themselves near an abandoned store — the very same one where Alex and Saga had recently retrieved Nightingale’s heart for the ritual. Casey contacted Saga to report that they had made it out of the woods. In response, she told them to head to the Witch’s Ladle — she and Alex were already there, waiting.

When the call ended, Casey turned to Emmett, who was cautiously scanning the surroundings. Seeing his partner’s tense expression, Casey immediately sensed that something was wrong. When Emmett drew his gun from its holster, Casey instinctively did the same.

A sharp crack of a branch echoed behind them — the sound came from the direction they had just left. Both men turned, and there they saw two Taken figures emerging from the shadows, each wielding a weapon: one with an axe, the other with a sickle.

Casey aimed his gun and shone his flashlight on them. As soon as the beam touched their bodies, sparks began to fly off them like burning ash. Casey hesitated and fired a warning shot into the air, hoping to scare them off — after all, to him, they still looked like ordinary people trying to attack. He was still struggling to accept the supernatural side of everything, trying to rationalize even their escape from the darkness as something that could be explained — perhaps just the light of a flare.

Emmett, however, remembered Alex’s words: “Shine the light, then shoot.” He acted by the book. As the darkness around the Taken faded under Casey’s beam, Emmett fired. The first ultraviolet round struck one of them straight in the head — the Taken staggered backward but didn’t fall. A moment later, a burst of bright light flared from his eyes, and the body went limp, collapsing onto the wet ground.

Casey was just about to demand what the hell Emmett was doing when the second Taken, the one with the sickle, lunged at him. Casey dodged the strike and returned fire, shooting as he had been trained at the academy — center mass. Three rounds hit perfectly, but the creature kept moving.

Casey’s eyes widened when he saw a pulsing orb of red light glowing in the creature’s chest. Frowning, he took aim and fired again — right into the center. The bullet pierced the orb, and the Taken instantly dropped dead.

Casey exhaled heavily, staring down at the lifeless body sprawled on the rain-soaked ground.

“So, do you believe what’s happening now?” Emmett asked, holstering his gun beneath his black jacket.

“What happened to them — it’s the same as with Nightingale, right? But why? Wasn’t the ritual supposed to have failed only for him? Or am I missing something?” Casey asked, frowning.

“Maybe Nightingale was a carrier,” Emmett suggested.

“You mean he somehow became a spreader of this… infection?” Casey asked, crouching beside one of the bodies.

“Or maybe these two turned for a different reason. Looks like they were forest rangers. They weren’t listed as missing,” Emmett noted, pointing at the corpse.

“Perfect, just perfect… as if we didn’t have enough problems already. Now we’ve got light-fearing freaks with glowing chests, and no one knows if they can spread it or if Nightingale’s the only one,” Casey muttered irritably, holstering his weapon.

He stood over the dead Taken with a grim expression. The questions kept piling up, but there were still no answers. The only thing they truly knew — was how to kill these things. And even that, only because it was written on one of the manuscript pages.

Casey’s gaze caught on a corner of white paper peeking out from beneath one of the bodies. He bent down, tugged it free — another page from the manuscript. It described how to fight the Taken.

Emmett stepped closer to take a look.

Casey frowned even deeper — the text described him. It detailed how he had fought two Taken and only at the end realized their weakness to light. His jaw tightened as he reread the lines, irritation flashing in his eyes. He wanted to tear the page apart but restrained himself — it was evidence, something that needed to be handed over to Saga.

Carefully folding the page, he slipped it into his pocket.

Casey and Emmett exchanged glances and headed toward the Witch’s Ladle, where Alex and Saga were already waiting. As they descended the path, they came across a flooded area. Suppressing their irritation, they pressed on until, in the distance, they spotted the glow of a burning flare — a marker pointing them in the right direction.

Thanks to that light, they quickly caught up with Alex and Saga.

“Were there any problems?” Saga asked, turning to Casey.

“Other than the fact that without light we couldn’t get out of the forest, and that those… Taken attacked us — no, no problems. But we did find another manuscript page,” Casey replied, pulling a white sheet from his pocket.

Saga took the manuscript page and carefully scanned the lines.

Alex stepped closer and shone his flashlight on the text. His eyebrows furrowed slightly at what he saw, but almost immediately he relaxed — logic suggested that in the original Alan Wake game, not all the story pages were shown. If the creators had included them all, they would have had to write an entire book. Here, however, this was reality, which meant there would be many more pages.

Saga frowned as she finished reading. The text again mentioned only her and Casey — not a word about Alex or Emmett, even though they were standing right there. It irritated her that her actions were becoming part of a pre-written scenario, down to the smallest detail. Yet she still didn’t have all the clues needed to piece together the full picture and understand how everything was connected.

Pressing her lips together, Saga carefully folded the page and slipped it into her pocket.

“Alright. It’s time to open this Fold, just like it says in the manuscript,” she said, pulling the Nightingale’s heart wrapped in plastic from the bag.

“Before you do that, I want to remind everyone of one thing,” Alex said, looking at each of them. “We don’t know what’s waiting for us inside. So stay close. Everything in there is a potential enemy.”

“What makes you say that?” Saga asked, turning to him.

“Not a single page we’ve found mentions what exactly is in the Fold,” Alex replied calmly. “But Nightingale came out of there. So nothing good is in there.”

Alex’s words sounded convincing. Everyone understood he was right — the encounter with the Taken was proof. If such creatures were already outside, there could be even more inside the Fold.

Alex opened his bag again and began distributing flares and ultraviolet bullets. Casey and Saga exchanged puzzled looks, and Alex explained:

“These are special signal rounds. They produce a strong flash of light — could come in handy.”

Of course, he didn’t reveal all the details, limiting his explanation to saying that it was just an experimental development.

When everyone was ready, Alex glanced at Saga and gave a short nod. She understood without words — it was time.

Saga approached the informational stand with the legend of the witch in black, took out Nightingale’s heart, and took a deep breath.

“The ripples distorted the crooked mirror. A wave crashed over it. Here’s the heart, witch. Show me the nightmare,” she recited, repeating the words of the ritual.

Then Saga slid the heart into the hole at the center of the stand — right where the witch’s chest was drawn.

Alex immediately noticed distortions in the space. Right before their eyes, the heart that served as the key dissolved, as if melting into the air. The space trembled and spun like a whirlpool.

The surrounding area was illuminated by a bright, ominous red light, and a strong wind rose. Emmett, Casey, and Saga turned toward the Witch’s Ladle — the path that had previously been blocked by stones was now clear, the stones scattered aside, opening the way.

“Looks like it worked,” Saga said, watching the pulsating red glow pouring from the open passage.

“Before we go in,” Alex said, “don’t believe anything you see or hear. The Fold is the other side of the room. There’s nothing good in there. So stay together.”

Emmett, Saga, and Casey nodded. Emmett fully understood what might happen inside the Fold, while Saga and Casey were only beginning to get acquainted with this world — and had no idea what awaited them.

When everyone was ready, Saga went first, followed by Casey and Emmett, with Alex bringing up the rear, making sure to cover the others in case something unexpected happened.

Saga approached the open passage, from which strange, distorted sounds emanated — whispers of many voices mixed with static noise. She turned back to make sure the others were ready. Emmett and Casey gave a brief nod, holding their pistols at the ready.

Alex peered into the passage, activating his magical sight. As he suspected, the Fold was a warped space — a twisted, stretched room, resembling the world beyond the Red Door. However, due to the instability of the space, he could only see part of the picture. To understand the structure of the Fold, they would have to step inside.

Saga was the first to cross the threshold, followed by Emmett and Casey. Alex entered last — and immediately felt an unpleasant sensation, as if he were being pulled down into a murky whirlpool. A ringing filled his ears, followed by whispers, screams, snippets of other people’s phrases. Everything around him began to darken.

He blinked — and found himself in the middle of a dark forest. So dark that his eyes couldn’t make out a single detail.

Alex frowned. He immediately realized he was not where the others should have been. And what irritated him most was that someone had apparently decided to make him “special,” sending him to a different place.

“Perfect,” he muttered through clenched teeth, pulling out a flare.

He lit it and tossed it at his feet. The reddish light instantly tore through the darkness, pushing back the gloom. In its glow, the silhouettes of the Taken became visible — dozens of figures hiding among the trees. They didn’t approach, retreating from the light, emitting dull, distorted sounds, as if caught between words.

Alex smirked and looked up at the sky.

“Hey! What the hell?! Why am I here alone?!” he shouted, his voice echoing through the forest. “Fuck you, Barbara! Fuck you, Taken! Fuck you, Alan! All of you — FUCK YOU!!”

Having shouted everything he had bottled up, he calmed down slightly.

Then, with a grim smile, Alex pulled another ten flares from his pocket, lit them, and scattered them in different directions. The bright flashes lit up the forest, forcing the Taken to retreat further, their distorted cries growing louder, breaking into shrieks.

“Quiet down, you bastards,” he muttered, pulling out a cigarette.

Taking a drag, Alex looked up. The sky here was not a sky — more like a viscous stream of darkness, resembling a boiling whirlpool that flowed endlessly, changing shape. To the ordinary eye, it was just a starless night, but his magical sight revealed the true nature — chaos, formed from dark matter.

Turning off his magical sight, Alex began spreading mana in all directions, probing every inch of the space. He felt the viscous ground beneath his feet, like the bottom of a swamp, and the suffocating energy — a consequence of the Dark Place’s presence, woven from fragments of Amara’s power.

He confirmed the first fact — the Fold was cyclical. No matter which way you walked, you would eventually return to the starting point.

The second — the Taken were not mere creatures, but souls consumed by darkness, steeped in fear, rage, and despair.

And the third — each Fold was a “room within a room,” connected to others through a chaotic spatial whirlpool. To escape it, one had to either destroy the core or find a door leading to another fragment or the real world.

“And how am I supposed to take you out without destroying the whole Fold…” Alex muttered, looking at the Taken, “…without ending up in this damn whirlpool?”

He took a deep drag, exhaling smoke toward the nearest shadows, and smirked.

“Alright… let’s play.”

From the darkness came only another wave of incoherent muttering — distorted voices of the Taken stretched out as if from the depths of water. Only a few words were discernible: “Alan Wake is guilty…” “we are drowning…” The rest was lost in the eerie whispering.

Alex tapped his finger on his chin, thinking about how to deal with the Taken without destroying the Fold. Leaving wasn’t an option — on the contrary, he wanted to learn to navigate the Dark Place, to reach its very bottom and pull Alan Wake out, breaking the Spiral cycle that endlessly reset, affecting different timelines.

He couldn’t help but mutter a quiet curse, remembering Chuck — that idiot who fancied himself a God-Creator. According to Alex, he was the one who brought the anomaly of Alan Wake into this universe and this cursed whirlpool, which had grown stronger after Amara’s darkness seeped into its depths.

But Alex quickly found a solution: he could get rid of the Taken without destroying the Fold.

The Beowulf bracelet on his wrist flared — an artifact whose runes glowed softly with white light.

“Alright,” Alex smirked, raising his hand above his head. “First, I deal with you, then I move on. Just need to create a burst of light. How was it again?.. Ah, yes. In brightest day, in darkest night…”

With every word, the bracelet shone brighter, but suddenly the light around him intensified unnaturally fast. Alex frowned, feeling the heat — and suddenly the entire area was ablaze.

He lifted his eyes to the sky — and froze.

A blazing meteor was falling from the heavens.

“What the hell…” Alex muttered, realizing his spell clearly wasn’t meant for this. It was supposed to create just a bright source of light capable of dispelling the darkness, not call down a meteor!

The meteor gained speed rapidly, the air around it ignited from the heat, and the trees of darkness caught fire like torches. When the fiery mass slammed into the ground near Alex, there was a dry, sharp crack — and a blinding shockwave rippled through the entire space, incinerating the Taken and tearing the darkness to shreds.

In the center of the flames, amidst the swirling heat, stood a woman with bright red, almost burning hair. The fire wrapped around her figure gently, as if alive.

“Lilith,” Alex said, barely hiding a smile.

“Well, hello there, handsome,” she replied, shaking off the ashes and stepping closer. “I heard you needed a bright source of light. No need to thank me… though I wouldn’t say no to a date.”

She wrapped her arms around his neck and smiled.

“Hello, darling,” Alex replied, holding her by the waist. “Who told you that? Well, never mind. Quite the entrance. I’d even say — fiery.”

“My girls and I just got back from a mission,” Lilith said, pressing closer. “And Brunhilda mentioned that you might accidentally break something you don’t want to. I thought I’d have your back.”

“And it’s a good thing you did. Without you, I might have overdone it,” Alex said, leaning toward her lips.

They kissed, and Lilith laughed softly.

“Hmm… what is this place? It’s gross. Even with all this fire, it’s still dark.”

“This is a Fold. One of the fragments of the Dark Place. All the details are in the family chat if you want to know what I’ve gotten myself into again,” Alex said, touching her cheek.

“I don’t think I need to read anything,” Lilith smirked. “In the week I’ve been living in your house, the girls have already told me everything. You’re like a magnet for trouble, so nothing new there.”

“Then maybe a date in the Dark Place? A little romance: find a writer, kill a couple of Taken, walk under the black sky?” Alex suggested with a sly grin.

“Tempting, but no,” Lilith smiled. “I just got back. I want a hot bath, some beer, and no one bothering me. The mission was exhausting. So the date with my husband will have to wait — luckily, I can come anytime.”

She kissed him quickly and stepped back. Behind her, a fiery portal opened, erupting in bright tongues of flame.

“Don’t be bored, handsome,” Lilith winked, blowing him a kiss before disappearing into the portal.

Alex just smirked, watching the passage close, and shook his head. He liked that his women didn’t sit idle and always did things their own way.

Looking around, he activated his magical sight again and noticed a faint stream of energy — the outline of a door leading to another Fold.

“Found it,” he muttered, and without wasting time, rushed forward.

He dove into the rift — like into thick swampy water — and instantly found himself in a different place. The space had changed: instead of a dark forest, there was a room lit with soft, warm light.

Alex looked around.

“A hotel…” he muttered, running a hand along his chin. “So, now we play this game.”

Alex began scanning the room for anything useful. The first thing that caught his attention was a book in a dark cover. Approaching it, he carefully picked it up and looked at the cover. In large letters was written Alan Wake, and just below, the title Departure.

Alex raised an eyebrow in surprise, not expecting to find something like this here, and opened the book, flipping through the first pages. Within seconds, he realized he was holding the beginning of a story describing Alan Wake’s arrival in Bright Falls.

Quickly flipping through the pages, Alex hoped to find at least some clue—something that could help him figure out how to reach the bottom of the Whirlpool, where, according to his information, the original Alan Wake was located. The very same one who continued writing the story in a place resembling the attic of an old house, hoping to reverse the Spiral.

But the further he read, the clearer it became—there was nothing useful in the book. Only the beginning of the events. No hints, no slightest clue.

Clicking his tongue in irritation, Alex closed Departure and shoved it into the bag slung over his shoulder.

“Hmm… Alan probably won’t get out of the Dark Place until Nightingale dies. That means I’ll be able to ask him directly,” he muttered, putting the book away and talking to himself.

After that, Alex began searching again, hoping to find a passage to the next Fold. Approaching the only door, he peeked into the corridor.

The corridor was long… too long. It seemed to stretch into infinity.

After a moment’s thought, Alex took a gold coin from his pocket and threw it with such force that the air shivered from the sonic impact. The coin vanished into the distance, but a second later, the same coin whistled past his face on a gust of wind—and it didn’t seem like it was going to stop.

Alex managed to catch it mid-air—the coin had already made a dozen spins.

“For heaven’s sake… why does every one of these places look like a nightmare?” he muttered irritably, staring down the endless corridor. “Red carpet, infinite walls, doors all the same color. And this place itself is clearly woven not from reality, but from a dream.”

What irritated Alex the most wasn’t even that. It was the fact that he was here alone. And with every passing moment, he wanted nothing more than to talk to someone.

He was beginning to understand that the space of the Dark Place wasn’t just an anomaly. It was a dimension of dreams. A place where anything could happen. Where a dream wasn’t just a state of the body, but something far deeper, beyond human understanding.

The Dream World was a space where the impossible came to life. Where up could become down, and down could become up. Where logic itself lost all meaning. A dream stood beyond reality—at the very threshold where mortals were better off not venturing.

“Dream is a dimension through which seekers of truth travel, approaching the threshold of Chaos,” Alex whispered, closing the door behind him.

“Heeheehee, darling, you’re wrong,” a familiar voice echoed in his head. “This place isn’t a dream dimension. It’s close… but still too far. Although you are indeed close to the answer.”

Alex scratched his ear with a finger. Nyan-Nyan’s voice sounded strange—not like it usually did when she spoke to him face-to-face. But her words were a clue.

The Dark Place wasn’t a dream dimension, but it neighbored one. Close enough for a person to make their dreams real, just as Alan Wake did.

Nodding to himself, Alex realized—the solution was nearby. But none of this changed his main goal: to destroy or close this fragment of space, created from fears, thoughts, and words of Alan himself. To do that, he needed to reach the center of the Whirlpool—into the very depths of the Spiral.

He took out his phone to check how much time he had spent in the Fold. Only twenty minutes had passed.

Putting the device away, Alex bent down and peered under the bed—every crack or gap could be a portal to another Fold.

Sure enough, a faint glimmer of light shone from beneath the bed.

“Aha… knew it,” he sighed, and with the expression of someone who really didn’t want to do this, he began crawling under the bed.

The moment he was fully underneath, his body felt that familiar sensation again—as if he were sinking into a thick, murky swamp.

In the next instant, Alex found himself in a narrow space. A dim light filtered through a slim crack in front of him. He reached out and pushed the flap.

A cabinet door opened before him.

“Forest, hotel room… now a cabinet. What’s next? The roof of a skyscraper?” Alex grumbled, climbing out of the cramped cabinet.

Stepping out, Alex found himself in a small room that clearly belonged to a child. Toys were scattered across the floor, and slightly crooked children’s drawings hung on the walls—everything unmistakably showing that a little girl had once lived here.

Alex bent down and picked up one of the drawings. It depicted a family—mom, dad, and a small child. A typical child’s drawing. But one detail immediately caught his eye—the woman in the picture wore a jacket with an FBI emblem.

“This… is Saga’s daughter’s room? I think her name’s Logan. But why does it exist here, in the Dark Place?” Alex muttered, glancing around.

He fully understood that he wouldn’t get an answer. Yet the question nagged at him. The only explanation that came to mind was that Saga, upon entering the Dark Place, had involuntarily projected memories of her daughter here—and with them, this room had been born, conjured from her memory.

Frowning, Alex carefully folded the drawing and put it in his bag, then headed toward the exit.

Once in the corridor, he looked around and opened the nearest door. Behind it was a bathroom. Closing it, he moved on and slightly opened the next door—a bedroom. It seemed that Saga and her husband, David, had once slept here. Nothing useful.

He continued walking, but with every step, the feeling grew stronger—the apartment was… wrong. Too empty. Too cold. And the photographs on the walls looked distorted, as if the faces were being pulled into a whirlpool.

Reaching the window, Alex looked outside—beyond the glass stretched absolute, bottomless darkness. Activating his magical vision, he saw only a frenzied stream of black energy racing through space, like a storm in the void.

“And where to next?” he muttered softly, pulling out a cigarette.

Clicking his lighter, Alex took a deep drag. The bitter smoke filled his lungs, and for a moment, everything around him seemed slightly less alien.

The Dark Abode was playing with him again. A labyrinth of doors and passages leading anywhere but where he needed to go. Even magical vision didn’t help—hundreds, thousands of intertwining paths flashed before his eyes, forming a chaotic web in which finding the right way was impossible.

He tried to follow one of the energy streams, but it simply led him back—to the beginning. There were tens of thousands of such cycles here, each leading into a new, alien space within the Dark Place.

Exhaling smoke, Alex stepped to the window and flung it open. Beyond the glass—nothing but impenetrable darkness. But when the cold air touched his face, he noticed something strange.

He had forgotten the most important detail: in places like this everything depends on the angle of perception. The view through the glass and the view without it are two completely different worlds.

And the moment he removed the barrier, the blackness outside shivered, and a bright rift opened in it—a new passage, another Fold.

Alex smiled. Found it.

He adjusted the strap of his bag, clenched the cigarette more firmly between his teeth, took a couple of steps back, and with a shadow of a grin said, “I’m starting to like this place more and more. It’s… truly interesting here.”

Alex really was curious to be in this place, despite how irritatingly convoluted it was. There was something compelling about it—like an old book whose pages you can’t close until you learn the ending.

Pushing off the wall with his back, Alex ran forward, picked up speed, and dove through the open window. A moment of flight—and the familiar sensation of viscous, murky substance again, as if his body were breaking through a liquid dream. He blinked and realized he was falling.

He flipped in the air and landed softly on wet asphalt. The smell of dampness, filth, and blood hung in the air. The lone streetlamp above flickered, casting dim light and stretching long, trembling shadows.

He looked around. The scene was familiar—a back alley, yellow tape, drops of blood, a faded newspaper fluttering in the wind. A typical crime scene. Alex immediately knew where he was—this was a scene from Alan Wake’s book where the protagonist was the fictional detective Alex Casey.

A lighter clicked behind him. Alex turned. In the half-light stood Casey—in a long coat, a cigarette between his teeth, the flame illuminating his face, his eyes glinting coldly.

“Who the hell are you, and what did you forget at a crime scene?” he asked, blowing out a stream of smoke.

“I was just passing by. Pay me no mind, Detective Casey,” Alex answered calmly, preparing to leave.

He put on the most harmless expression he could and walked past. But Casey didn’t let him go—like a noir cliché the detective suddenly drew a revolver and pointed the barrel straight at Alex’s head.

“Maybe you’re the criminal who came back to the scene of the crime?” he said in that practiced noir tone.

“Yep, exactly that,” Alex replied without emotion. “I’m such a clumsy murderer that I decided to return to the place where I just committed the crime. Congratulations, Detective Casey, you’ve caught me. Put the cuffs on and take me to the station.”

He said it in an exaggeratedly robotic voice, stretching his hands forward. Casey remained silent, keeping him in the sights, tense like a drawn bowstring.

Alex looked at him calmly. He had already figured out who he was dealing with—not a living person, but a character come to life from the book, a puppet following the scripted scenario.

Seeing no reaction from the detective, Alex shrugged and turned to move on. But at that exact moment, a shot rang out.

Alex instinctively froze. The air smelled of gunpowder. He slowly turned his head—and saw Detective Casey collapse onto the wet asphalt, a neat bullet hole blackening his forehead.

A white page stuck out from under the coat. Alex stepped closer, pulled out the sheet, and scanned the lines with his eyes.

“Looks like this is part of the manuscript Alan was rewriting. Apparently, he didn’t manage to erase everything…” Alex muttered, then added with a slight smirk, “Poor Detective Casey. Hope you don’t mind if I take a souvenir to remember our meeting.”

He pulled the police badge from Casey’s inner coat pocket and tucked it into his bag.

Hands behind his head, whistling a tune, Alex moved deeper into the alley. With every new door, the Dark Place became more and more intriguing. Somewhere deep inside, he even hoped the next door would lead him to the Warlin Door studio, where he could discuss all this madness live.

The thought made him grin, and he disappeared into the darkness of the long alley.

To be continued…

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Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep