Identity Thief -

The silence in Elias Thorne’s apartment was the first thing that felt wrong. Elias was a man of precise habits. He was a junior archivist at the city library, a job that required him to be invisible, meticulous, and predictable. He liked his life like he liked his bookshelves: alphabetized and dust-free.

Elias felt the floor tilt. No, that’s not... I remember my childhood. I remember my mother. Identity Thief

Elias backed toward the window. He looked at the man who was currently living his life, wearing his clothes, and possessing his name. He realized he couldn't fight for a life he had stolen, because there was no "Elias" left to save. The silence in Elias Thorne’s apartment was the

The thief stepped closer. You remember the memories you memorized from the real Elias’s journals. You did such a good job hiding the body that you actually started to believe the lie. But you got lazy, Arthur. You stopped being 'Elias' and started just being a shadow. He liked his life like he liked his

The guard sighed, the weary sound of someone dealing with a prankster. He tapped a few keys and turned the monitor around. There was the resident profile for 4B. The name was correct. The social security number, the emergency contact, the employer—all Elias’s. But the photo attached to the file was not Elias. It was a man with a broader jaw, thicker hair, and a smile that looked far more confident than Elias had ever managed to be.

The thief sat back down and resumed typing. You should run, Arthur. It’s what you’re best at.

When he tried to swipe his keycard at the lobby elevator that Tuesday evening, the reader blinked a spiteful, jagged red. He tried again. Red. He walked to the concierge desk, where a young man he didn’t recognize was monitoring the screens.