Catch me.

You’re here. I’ve been waiting for you for so long.

The text message startled me, and I quickly handed my phone to Jin Ze for him to see.

After reading it, Jin Ze didn’t immediately open the door to Fang Lin’s apartment. Instead, his hand instinctively went to his service pistol at his waist and he shot me a look. He pressed his back against the wall, signaling for me to do the same.

I followed his lead, understanding his intention. At this moment, someone could very well be inside the apartment, perhaps peering through the peephole, watching us. Otherwise, how would they have known I’d arrived and sent me that message?

Of course, it was also possible this person was lurking somewhere outside, watching from another hidden spot. Either way, he was spying on us. The style matched perfectly with the voyeur—this had to be the same person.

Just then, my phone vibrated again. Another message from Zhang Wentong: Come in. Why are you skulking around the doorway?

My scalp tingled. Even though I’d already guessed he was hiding somewhere, the feeling of being so utterly exposed under his gaze was unbearable. Danger could strike at any moment.

Jin Ze glanced at my phone, unruffled as ever. He whispered, “Don’t panic. It’s just a bluff. This time he’s texting instead of using his voice. That means he doesn’t have any more of Zhang Wentong’s pre-recorded audio. He’s only good at lurking in the shadows, trying to break down our mental defenses.”

Hearing Jin Ze’s analysis, I relaxed a little. He made sense: switching from voice to text meant he’d run out of recordings. Damn it, still trying to act like a ghost to scare me.

Still, I couldn’t shake the feeling that the voyeur knew my every move too well. Watching alone couldn’t explain it—he must have been monitoring my phone or something else. Fang Qinghe and Jin Ze must have suspected as much, yet they hadn’t insisted on checking my phone. I supposed they wanted to use me as bait, just like the killer did. Unless absolutely necessary, they wouldn’t sever my connection to the culprit. In a way, I’d become a piece both sides wanted to control and use. No wonder Fang Qinghe had wanted me in his office doing clerical work.

Jin Ze shot me another look, signaling for me to peer through the peephole while he drew his pistol and chambered a round, ready to cover me. This way, whether the voyeur was inside or outside, we’d be prepared.

I did as Jin Ze suggested. Though you couldn’t see the whole room from outside, you could still get a vague sense of things. And if someone was pressed against the peephole from within, watching out, I’d spot them.

I pressed my eye tightly to the peephole, but inside was pitch black; I couldn’t see anyone lurking.

I widened my eyes, trying to see more clearly.

Suddenly, the peephole was yanked away. My eye was left staring straight into an empty hole.

Caught off guard, I froze, forgetting to pull back. I’d only wanted to get a look inside. But before I could react, an eye abruptly appeared on the other side, staring straight into mine—and it blinked.

A chill ran down my spine. I screamed, “Inside! Jin Ze, he’s inside the apartment!”

Jin Ze reacted instantly, sliding the key into the lock, turning it, and flinging the door open. He charged in, gun raised, and I followed close behind.

Yet as soon as we entered, there was no sign of anyone. The room was a mess, likely the aftermath of the last police investigation—but it didn’t look like anyone had been here since.

Jin Ze was familiar with the apartment’s layout, having already been here with the police. He knew there was nowhere to hide in the living room, so he quickly scanned the balcony, bathroom, and the open study door before heading straight for Fang Lin’s bedroom.

I had the same thought. Fang Lin’s place was on the top floor, with a small attic. The stairs to the attic were inside her bedroom—a detail I’d once asked her about. The attic was the perfect escape route for anyone hiding inside. From the attic window, with climbing gear or a rope, you could easily flee.

But when we reached Fang Lin’s bedroom, the attic door was closed and secured with an old-fashioned lock from the outside—not the kind that could be locked from within.

So the person I’d just seen couldn’t have climbed into the attic and locked the door from the other side.

That left only one possibility: the person was still in the apartment.

Jin Ze motioned for me to watch the bedroom door, keeping an eye on the hallway in case the suspect tried to slip out. He began searching Fang Lin’s bedroom.

I stood at the door, scanning the corridor, but nothing moved. Jin Ze crouched low, searching everywhere in the bedroom—from the closet to beneath the bed, every box and cabinet large enough to conceal a person.

Minutes passed. Jin Ze finally straightened, frustrated. He hadn’t found a thing.

His brow furrowed deeply. No wonder—he’d thought he had the killer cornered, only for the suspect to vanish into thin air.

A living, breathing person couldn’t just disappear. Unless, of course, they weren’t human—but after all these cases, I believed Jin Ze: there were no ghosts, only the evil within men’s hearts.

While I pondered, Jin Ze suddenly asked, “Chen Mu, are you sure you saw someone?”

I considered and replied, “I didn’t see a person, but I definitely saw an eye. It looked straight at me—and you saw the peephole was pried out.”

Jin Ze’s frown deepened. He was clearly stumped.

At that moment, my phone buzzed again—a message from Zhang Wentong: Do you know what I’m doing? I’m watching you. I love seeing you so lost and troubled. I wish I could help you, but I can’t—because you don’t even know who I am.

I shuddered. Damn it, he said he was watching me! That meant he was close by—so why couldn’t we see him?

Heart pounding, I looked at Jin Ze. He made a subtle gesture, signaling for me to make a call.

I caught on immediately—he wanted me to dial Zhang Wentong’s number. The phone was probably on silent, but it might still vibrate. Even if it didn’t, the screen would likely light up, and the sudden call might startle the person hiding, betraying their location.

I dialed Zhang Wentong’s number; my heart was in my throat.

Suddenly, a ringtone sounded inside the room. When I pinpointed its location, I froze, jaw dropping.

The ringtone was coming from Jin Ze’s pocket. Was someone calling him by coincidence—or was Jin Ze actually the voyeur?

For a moment, my imagination ran wild. I pictured Jin Ze’s angelic facade falling away, revealing a devil poised to devour me.

But he remained calm, pulling out his phone and stiffening slightly. “Hey, why are you calling me?”

I was dumbfounded. “I didn’t call you—I dialed Zhang Wentong’s number!”

Jin Ze immediately realized what had happened. “The bastard set up call forwarding. He forwarded Zhang Wentong’s calls to my phone.”

I caught on at once. Damn, this killer was thorough—he’d even thought of this, nearly scaring me out of my wits, and almost sowing discord between me and Jin Ze.

Jin Ze wasn’t fazed. His gaze shifted to the attic.

He quickly climbed the stairs, yanked at the lock, but it wouldn’t budge. He stepped back, aimed carefully at the lock, and called down to me, “Step back, just in case.”

I crawled under the bed. A gunshot rang out—Jin Ze had shot the lock.

As I was about to crawl out and see what was happening, I suddenly felt a cold grip around my ankle. My whole body went rigid.

A hand had seized my foot.