The Therapist’s Trap

The fog of Saltgrave pressed against the grimy window of Evelyn Voss's rented room, a heavy shroud that echoed the burden in her chest. The clock on the wall ticked past midnight, its hands a constant reminder of the approaching masquerade. She sat at a rickety desk, surrounded by yellowed files from her old practice—proof of the life she had burned with her own hands. The photograph of Lila, marked with the Order's spiral, lay before her, a silent accusation. Her fingers shook as she dialed a number she hadn't called in years, the line crackling like bones breaking.

"Dr. Voss," a raspy voice answered, soaked in venom and old resentment. It was Dr. Hargrove, her former mentor, now an embittered exile. "You've got guts calling me after your little scandal. What do you want? Forgiveness or a noose?"

Evelyn's lips twisted into a cold smile. Her voice was ice wrapped in iron."Neither. I need information on the Order of the Shroud. They're connected to my past mistakes. Tell me what you know, or I'll drag your name through the mud with mine."

A bitter laugh crackled through the phone."You think you can blackmail me? Fine. The Order's a cult, older than this rotting town. They deal in secrets—yours, mine, everyone's. Rumor has it they're holding a ritual at that damned manor. Something about 'the first mask.' That's all I've got, you soulless witch."The line went dead.

She leaned back, her mind racing. The phrase "first mask" gnawed at her. It echoed the drunk's collapse at the bar—the foam, the whisper, the death. The Order had used her work—her failures—to feed their ritual. There was only one source left in this damned place.

She grabbed her coat and stepped into the fog. Death lingered in the air like cologne.

The Rusty Anchor was nearly silent at this hour, save for a hunched figure slumped at the bar—Old Man Crabb, a relic stinking of whiskey and despair. His bloodshot eyes flicked up as Evelyn sat beside him, her voice low, seductive, dangerous.

"Crabb, you've been around longer than the cliffs. Tell me about the Order. What do they do at the masquerade?"

Crabb gave a wet, phlegmy cough. His laugh died halfway through."Order? Those fancy masks? They're demons, girl. They'll take your soul and leave nothing behind. I've seen 'em drag people off, years back. Something about a mask… the first one…"

She leaned in, her tone velvet wrapped around a blade."The first mask, Crabb. What does it mean? Speak, or I'll leave you to rot in this pit."

He flinched under her stare."First mask… it's the beginning. They choose someone, mark 'em, bleed 'em dry for that… that thing. They call it The Veil. I heard it whisper once, like a grave opening."His voice dropped to a trembling murmur."Stay away, Doc. It knows you. It saw you."

A cold shiver ran through her. Patients she'd broken, secrets she'd buried—what had she fed?

"What thing, Crabb? Tell me!"Her voice cracked like a whip.

"The first mask!" he croaked—and then his body convulsed, foam bubbling from his lips."It's you… it's—"He collapsed, his skull striking the bar, death pooling like spilled wine.

Evelyn recoiled, stunned. She had seen this before. Her patients, twisted by her mind games. She moved quickly, shaking, searching his pockets. Her fingers closed around a crumpled note.

EVELYN VOSS.A time: Tomorrow night, 11:00 PM.No signature—just a dried stain, brown and ominous.

Her breath caught.

"You bastards," she whispered."I'll turn your ritual into your grave."

The bar door creaked open. A figure stood tall in the frame, cloaked in black. Its presence was a lead weight pressing against her soul.

She turned slowly, fingers clutching the bar."Who are you?" she demanded."Show yourself, or I'll pry your secrets out myself."

The voice slithered out of the darkness."The trap is set, Doctor. Your sins are the key."

"Answer me."

"I am the herald of The Veil. Your past feeds it. Your mind sharpens its blade. Tomorrow, you'll wear the mask—or bleed for it."A glimpse of a spiral tattoo pulsed on its wrist. Then the figure vanished into the fog.

Evelyn staggered, catching herself. Her pulse thundered. Her past had fed this monstrosity, and now it wanted her soul.

She raced toward the cliffs.

Flick paced like a caged animal. Riley leaned against a rock, twirling their knife. Marina stood still as stone, eyes locked on the sea.

They turned as Evelyn arrived, soaked in dread.

"You look like death warmed over," Flick said. His laugh was paper-thin."Find a ghost, Doc?"

"Worse." Evelyn's voice was quiet, but lethal."The Order's been watching me. Crabb's dead—poisoned, like the drunk. He mentioned the 'first mask' before he died."She held up the note."They've marked me. Tomorrow night."

Marina's eyes blazed."They killed Tom the same way. You're their next sacrifice, aren't you?"

Evelyn didn't blink."Maybe. But I won't go quietly. The Order used my work—my patients—to feed The Veil. I'll turn their trap against them."

Riley gave a low whistle. Their smirk faded."Nice mess you've gotten us into, Doc. The Syndicate's got bets on this ritual, and now I'm stuck babysitting you lot. Perfect."Their hand tightened on the knife.

Flick stepped forward, trembling."Your past? What did you do, Evelyn? Did you sell Lila to them?"His voice cracked, grief tearing through him.

Evelyn's face was stone."I didn't kill her, Flick. But I might've paved the way. My experiments broke minds. The Order used that. Twisted it."

Marina looked at her, something shifting in her eyes."Then we stop them. Together. Tom deserves that much."

A low hum vibrated through the cliffs.

Flick stiffened."You hear that? It's her… Lila's calling again."His laugh bordered on a scream.

"Get a grip," Riley snapped, seizing his arm."That's no ghost—it's that Veil thing. We're bait, and the trap's closing."

Evelyn raised the note."Tomorrow night. 11:00. That's when they come. We use it. We fight."

The spiral on the cliffstone glowed red.

A figure emerged—a silhouette cloaked in black. Its voice was a guttural rasp:"The first mask is yours, Doctor. Wear it, or your soul is lost."

It vanished, and the glow pulsed like a heartbeat.

Evelyn stood motionless. The group said nothing. The sea's laughter rose behind them.

Something was coming. And it wore her sins like a crown.