Episode 2

Chapter 2

The Man Who Knew Her Name

Paris was as busy as ever that morning.

The streets echoed with the sound of traffic.

The aroma of freshly brewed coffee drifted from crowded cafés.

And the city moved forward with its usual rhythm.

But for Isabelle Laurent, this morning felt different.

The strange dream from the previous night still lingered in a corner of her mind.

Vague.

Blurred.

And deeply unsettling.

Isabelle Laurent was an Art History Researcher at one of Paris’s renowned museums.

Most of her days were spent studying centuries-old paintings, historical manuscripts, and forgotten stories buried beneath time.

Perhaps that was why the past had always fascinated her.

She was the kind of person who could find mysteries hidden even within old pieces of paper.

Today, as always, she was dressed in her usual elegant simplicity.

A beige trench coat.

A black turtleneck sweater.

Dark blue jeans.

And brown leather boots.

Her chestnut-brown hair fell in soft waves below her shoulders, while her hazel eyes carried their familiar quiet curiosity.

From a distance, one might mistake her for a writer or an artist.

Yet despite the open book lying before her, her thoughts were elsewhere.

An old building.

A silent hallway.

And an elevator.

She blinked.

Then closed the book.

It was only a dream.

She told herself that.

Yet for some reason, her heart refused to believe it.

She remembered someone speaking to her in that dream.

But in what language?

What had he said?

Who was he?

She couldn't remember.

It felt as if someone had stolen the most important pieces of her memory.

---

A small apartment in Montmartre had been her home for the past three years.

A lonely home.

A lonely life.

Her mother, Emily Laurent, had passed away from cancer many years ago.

Her father, Étienne Laurent, a respected historian, had died of a heart attack five years earlier.

After losing them both, Isabelle was left with nothing but memories.

Perhaps that was why she found it impossible to let go of the past.

---

The day passed like any other.

Yet every few hours, her mind drifted back to the dream.

Evening faded.

Night arrived.

And then...

11:50 PM.

Isabelle stepped out of the museum.

The air was damp.

The rain had stopped only a short while ago.

Golden reflections shimmered beneath the street lamps.

She started walking toward her car.

But after a few steps, she stopped.

She checked the time.

11:50.

Then her gaze drifted toward the distance.

The same street.

The same direction.

The same building.

A quiet breath escaped her lips.

"What exactly am I trying to prove?"

She asked herself.

No answer came.

Yet moments later, her feet carried her in that direction anyway.

---

Ten minutes later, she stood before the building.

In the darkness of the night, it looked even more abandoned than before.

Its windows were black.

The front door hung half open.

As though no one had bothered to close it properly for years.

An uneasy feeling settled in her chest.

For a moment, she considered turning back.

Then she shook her head.

"If nothing happens, at least I'll finally have peace of mind."

She stepped inside.

The lobby was silent.

Unnaturally silent.

So silent that even the sound of her own footsteps felt unfamiliar.

Damp stains marked the old walls.

A single light bulb hung from the ceiling, casting a weak yellow glow.

And somewhere in the distance...

A clock was ticking.

Isabelle glanced at her watch.

12:05.

Only two minutes left.

A nervous laugh escaped her.

"I'm actually losing my mind."

But the smile faded almost immediately.

12:06.

Tick...

Tick...

Tick...

Every passing second seemed to make the air heavier.

Her eyes slowly settled on the elevator.

Then...

12:07.

A sudden metallic grinding sound echoed from somewhere above.

Isabelle froze.

Her heart pounded against her ribs.

Another sound followed.

As if an ancient machine had finally awakened after years of silence.

And then...

Ding.

The elevator indicator lit up.

Her lips went dry.

This wasn't a dream.

The elevator was moving.

She instinctively took a step back.

But she couldn't look away.

The elevator descended slowly.

The flickering floor numbers glowed one after another.

As though something in the darkness was making its way toward her.

Then suddenly—

It stopped.

Silence filled the lobby.

Deep.

Unsettling silence.

And then...

The elevator doors slowly opened.

Isabelle's breath caught in her throat.

A man stood inside.

Tall.

Dressed in a black coat.

Dark eyes.

And a strange calmness on his face.

As though he wasn't surprised to see her.

As though he had known she would come.

For several moments, neither of them spoke.

Then the man slowly lifted his head.

His gaze locked onto hers.

And in a low voice, he said:

"You're late, Isabelle."

The color drained from her face.

Her hands trembled.

Because she had never told him her name.

To Be Continued...

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