It is about 65/span/b>18C) degrees. The mist is heaviest At Panama and Sidney/span

(Your target encounters a ghost trapped in a repeating loop, reliving their final moments. The ghost’s anguish is causing supernatural disturbances in the area – objects flying, temperature drops, and electronics malfunctioning. The characters must piece together what happened and find a way to break the loop, either by resolving the ghost’s unfinished business or helping them accept their fate.)

It’s a quiet afternoon, with the scent of coffee in the air and the noise of calm Saturday mornings surrounding Sophie. A few customers loiter near the counter. A couple sit in the book nook above. Baristas call out the occasional order, and everything is peaceful.

Until the scream heard from right behind, of course. Strangely, nobody else seems to take note of it.

From right OUTSIDE, that is.

Sophie freezes mid-sip, the mug lingering near her lips. For a heartbeat she wonders if the coffee shop playlist had some odd note buried in it, but no, she knows what she heard. A scream, sharp and real, from just outside. Her eyes flick around the room, searching the faces of the other customers, the baristas, the couple upstairs. Nothing. No one stirs. The hum of Saturday calm continues as if nothing broke through it. She sets her cup down carefully, before standing to her feet.

Hesitantly she moves towards the outer doors and looks through the glass.

A splatter of blood meets her face.

… well, not quite. It splatters on the glass right in front of Sophie’s face, crimson and vivid as a woman, grasping her bleeding-out stomach, braces herself against the wall of the coffee shop. Her features are strangely-blurred, and her eyes look right past Sophie as she stumbles, moaning in pain, rounding the corner out of view and trailing bloody footsteps in her wake.

Sophie flinches as the blood spatters the glass in front of her, the scream still echoing in her ears. She darts her attention back inside, calling back over her shoulder, her voice sharp and urgent. “Med kit. Now. Bring it!” There’s a scramble behind the counter but eventually a kit is pushed into her hand. Once there, sh’es out into the street, eyes narrowing on the trail of fresh crimson staining the pavement. Sophie follows the bloody footprints at a brisk pace, her pulse quickening as she rounds the corner in search of the wounded, blurred figure.

Sophie rounds the corner into an alley right next to the cozy little shop. Strangely, nobody seems to pay any attention to her or to the bloody footsteps that she follows, coming face to face — or face to back, as the case may be, with the woman she’d been following.

There’s someone with her.

“Don’t do this,” she pleads, sobbing, sinking to her knees, her hands bloody as she tries to keep her intestines from becoming outestines – there’s a gash in her abdomen, spilling blood steadily. It’s a wonder she made it the three steps she did. “You’re better than this,” she pleads with the other figure, too hidden in the shadows of the alley to make out the features of – all she can tell is that it’s a man.

Neither of them pay any attention to Sophie.

Sophie steps into the alley, her voice ringing out against the walls. “Get away from her!” she shouts, her tone sharp and commanding, “She needs medical attention.” Her eyes flick from the woman’s trembling hands to the man’s shadowed frame, her whole body tense and ready to move. The blood on the ground makes her stomach twist, but she keeps her feet under her, ready to push closer if he doesn’t respond.

There’s a knife in the man’s hand – of course there is. He raises it to slash at the woman’s neck.

Sophie takes a step closer.

She’s seated in the coffee shop, at her corner table. It’s a quiet afternoon, with the scent of coffee in the air and the occasional sound of a barista calling out customers’ orders. There’s no blood on the glass. Her cup of coffee is full; she must have just gotten it.

Sophie sits with her hands wrapped around the warm mug, but she does not drink. Her eyes linger on the clean glass in front of her and the window, remembering the spray of blood that was there. Wasn’t there? The memory is too vivid to ignore. What if it happens again? What if it never happened at all? Was she hallucinating?

Her pulse climbs as she pushes her chair back and rises to her feet. What would it hurt to give into the anxiety. With a little wave to the barista she says, “Forgot something in my car.” And with that, she steps out into the street. The air is cool and steady, the sunlight ordinary. She moves to stand just outside, near the spot where the woman had leaned against the glass bleeding. Just, waiting.

“Have a nice day!” the barista calls out after her, apparently not having properly heard whatever excuse Sophie had just made. It’s hard to tell whether anything out of the ordinary has happened – there’s no blood, no woman, no man in the alley, no bloody footsteps, no–

There’s a scuffle behind her; a man’s voice. Frustrated. “I’m done- I’m just done,” he snaps, and a woman, her voice so familiar, speaks next, frantic, “Adam, I know what you’re going to do- Adam, please, do–”

Her words cut off with a scream, and she only appears into view right after she’s walked through where Sophie stands. The sensation leaves chills down Sophie’s spine, like she’s just had ice in her veins. The man disappears into the alley, and the woman staggers against the glass, her fingers leaving bloody streaks. Sophie’s cup of coffee cools on the table, inside.

Sophie jolts at the scream, her eyes snapping to the woman stumbling into view, blood dark across her hands as she clutches her stomach. The sound claws at Sophie’s nerves, but what sticks even harder is the name still echoing in her mind. Adam. She knows his name now.

“Someone get me a med kit!” she rushes to the woman’s side, her voice carrying sharper than she means it to. Her gaze flicks toward the alley where he vanished, her chest tight with urgency. She wants to chase him, demand answers, stop whatever is happening, but the woman sagging against the glass pulls her focus back. “What’s your name?” Her hands look to the wounded stomach and momentarily Sophie’s hands heat up, as if she’s thinking of cauterizing the wound. Instead she takes the med kit when it arrives and opens it, pulling out whatever bandages are inside.

Nobody else reacts, even if a med kit is dropped off by… someone? A few cars drive by, and the soft chatter in the coffee shop continues as though there’s nothing out of the ordinary going on here. The woman gasps out ragged breaths, her hand going down to her stomach in disbelief, her eyes finding Sophie —

Something fuzzes in Sophie’s brain as she makes eye contact, as though her mind revolts against it. This shouldn’t be happening, something inside her says, as the woman coughs out blood and leans heavily against the wall. “Sa-…” she groans weakly, stumbling towards the alley like she has to be there. “Sarah. I- Adam–” she coughs again, bloody footsteps trailing behind her as she disappears into the alley.

Sophie pushes forward, shaking her head as if she can clear the buzzing from her skull. The sound of her own footsteps falls in time with Sarah’s staggering ones, each bloody print pulling her deeper toward the alley. “Sarah, wait. Im coming, just hold on,” she calls, her voice tight but steady. The rest of the world feels wrong, too calm, too ordinary, but Sophie keeps her eyes fixed on the woman ahead of her. The coffee shop chatter fades to nothing, the traffic hums by as if none of this exists, and still Sophie follows, “Sarah! Why are you following Adam?”