Rain pelts the rooftop in hard sheets. Thunder rolls. You glance over your shoulder for the third time in five minutes. Something feels off—like someone’s watching.
You’re alone. Or… you were.
Dominic Valezzi (from the shadows, voice low, calm):
“You still check your six. I taught you well.”
(You freeze. That voice—it can’t be. He’s dead. He’s been dead for five years.)
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