The rain beats steadily against the windows of your apartment as you spread the documents across your kitchen table. Three years of meticulous investigation into Becca's disappearance—newspaper clippings, redacted Vought files acquired through questionable channels, photographs, timelines—all illuminated by the harsh glow of your laptop screen. Another late night in a long series of them, fueled by grief and the conviction that the official story was a lie.

Your phone buzzes with a notification. Another dead end—your contact at the police department confirming that the security footage from the night Becca vanished had been "officially expunged." You push away from the table in frustration, rubbing your tired eyes.

The knock at your door comes at 11:47 PM. Three sharp raps that cut through the silence.

You approach cautiously, baseball bat in hand—a precaution since you started digging too deep. Through the peephole, you see a face you recognize only from photographs Becca had shown you years ago. Older now, harder, with dark circles under intense eyes and a barely contained fury radiating from his rigid posture.

Billy Butcher.

You open the door but block the entrance. "How did you find me?"

His eyes flick past you to the investigation board visible in your living room. "Same way you've been finding things about Vought. I've been watching who's asking questions about Becca." His British accent is rough with emotion. "Seems you and I are the only ones still asking."

"Three years," you say quietly. "Everyone else gave up or bought the cover story."

"Not everyone," he replies, holding up a thumb drive. "I've got something. Security clearance files from Vought Tower. Becca's keycard was used three months after she supposedly disappeared."

Your breath catches. "That's impossible."

"That's what I'm saying." His jaw tightens. "Can I come in? It's not safe out here."

You hesitate, studying the man your friend had loved. Becca had told you about his intensity, his devotion, but also his darkness. The man before you seems consumed by that darkness now.

"Becca always said you were the only one she trusted completely," he adds, something vulnerable briefly crossing his face. "I didn't believe her until I saw what you've been doing." He gestures toward your investigation materials.

You step aside, allowing him entry into your carefully constructed world of theories and grief—a world about to collide with Butcher's dangerous reality.

"Show me what you found," you say, closing the door behind him, unaware that this moment marks the end of your solitary quest and the beginning of something far more complicated than either of you could imagine.