It was 11.47 P.m. Rain hammered the pavement like the city was grieving. And me? I stood outside a glass door searching for a girl who vanished, chasing an answer no one wanted me to find. Name's Leonardo, I'm the last guy anyone should trust.
The tower loomed like a finger accusing the sky. My bag was heavy, not with weight, but with questions. The phone rang. A rough voice said, You've got 13 minutes, smart guy. Emma's inside, but she's not alone.
I lit a cigarette, blew smoke, and remembered the last time I saw Emma. She was laughing. Now, maybe crying, maybe worse. I ran, not because I'm brave, but because I had no other choice.
Beginning of the story. Six hours earlier, I was in a cheap cafe, reading a book I didn't like, waiting for Emma. She was a photographer, saw things others missed. She told me, I found something weird in the museum archive, a photo of a device and a note that said, don't open unless you're ready to lose everything. I laughed, should have cried. An hour later, she vanished.
Her phone was dead. Her apartment door was open, on the table, a black bag, a key, and a map. No note, just the scent of danger. I went to the places she'd visited, the museum, the train station, an abandoned building in Friedrichshain. Each spot whispered her name.
At the station, I met a man named Marcus. His face was like an old wall, cracked and tired. Emma got too close to the truth, he said, staring into the dark. The company was hiding a device that messes with memories. They wanted people to forget what shouldn't be forgotten. He gave me a code and said, If you love her, don't be late. But remember, love won't save you.
Choice will I entered the tower. Guards were like ghosts, silent, expressionless. I found Emma in a glass room, staring at me like she didn't recognize me. The device was active, countdown ticking. I used the key, disabled the system, shattered the glass. Emma collapsed into my arms, crying, laughing, saying, I knew you'd come. I just didn't know if you could. I told her, I can't, but I'm stubborn.
A week later, we sat in the same cafe. Emma laughed. I wrote, the story spread, the company shut down, people started remembering again. She asked, What'll you call the story? I said, Shadow in Berlin. She smiled, but this time, the shadow found light.
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