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“Sure.” The giant smirks. “I’ll tell him real nice.”

Outside, the night air is cool against my face. I light a cigarette, mentally recalibrating. The bar was a dead end, but it confirmed one thing—people are nervous about the Winters case.

Which means I’m on the right track.

The same tracks that lead to the Black Dahlia.

I’m halfway to my car when the vertigo hits—sudden, overwhelming. The street tilts beneath my feet, the streetlights blurring into streaks of color. I grab the nearest wall for support, but it’s like trying to catch smoke.

No.

Not now.

Not again.

The darkness rises like a tide, washing over me, pulling me under.

But it isn’t just the darkness this time.

Something else is there, as if waiting in the shadows of my mind.

Something vicious.

Something wild.

Something…hungry.

And then there’s nothing at all.

“Hey, buddy. You alright?”

The voice comes from far away, filtering through layers of fog. I blink, trying to orient myself. I’m sitting on a bench in a park I don’t recognize, my shirt disheveled, my knuckles raw and scraped.

“Mister? You need help?”

The speaker is an elderly man walking his dog, concern etched on his weathered face. I blink at him. It’s daylight—early morning by the angle of the sun.

I’ve lost an entire night.

“I’m fine,” I croak. “What time is it?”

My voice is rough, my throat parched and yet I feel strangely full.

“Just past seven.” He eyes me warily. “You got blood on your face.”

I touch my mouth, fingers coming away red. Blood. But not from a cut—it’s coming from inside my mouth. The taste coats my tongue, as if I’ve bitten it. Yet I feel no pain, no wound.

“Thanks,” I mutter, pulling out a handkerchief to wipe my face. “I’m fine.”

The old man shrugs and continues on his way, his dog casting a nervous glance back at me, ears pricked forward and back. Smart animal. It senses something wrong with me.

Because something isverywrong with me.

I take stock of my situation. I’m in Elysian Park, miles from where I last remember being. My car is nowhere in sight. My clothes are rumpled but intact, no tears or additional bloodstains beyond my hands and mouth. My wallet and gun are still on me, ruling out a mugging.

Yet another blackout. The longest one yet. And this time, I woke up with more than just a strange taste. I woke up with blood in my mouth.

I stagger to my feet, spitting out the remnants of blood, fighting off another wave of dizziness. These episodes are getting worse, more frequent. I need answers.