Chapter 4

I dragged myself up from the floor. I didn't dare turn on the light. Using only the moonlight filtering through the window, I began searching my room frantically.

Although Logan and I had separate rooms, we shared a lot of things.

If he wanted to leave me a message, where would he put it?

His phone? No, the imposter definitely had his phone.

A diary? Too obvious.

My eyes fell on an old metal tin on the bottom shelf of my bookcase.

It was our old sketchbook from high school.

I worked as a freelance illustrator. Logan wasn't into art, but he used to love doodling rough design ideas in my sketchbooks.

We had made a pact back then: if either of us ever got into trouble we couldn't talk about, we would draw a distress signal on the very last page of the sketchbook.

With trembling hands, I pulled out the tin and opened it.

The yellowed sketchbook lay quietly inside.

I flipped to the very last page.

Under the faint moonlight, I saw a rough sketch drawn with a black charcoal pencil.

It was drawn in a hurry; the lines were messy and chaotic.

It was a giant Ferris wheel. And beneath the wheel, there was a crude, crooked cross.

The Ferris wheel...

My mind raced.

There was only one place in this city with a Ferris wheel—the abandoned amusement park on the outskirts of town!

And right next to that park was the "Sunny Days Orphanage," the place where we were adopted!

The orphanage had been demolished years ago, and now it was just a desolate, overgrown wasteland. No one ever went there.

And a cross... did it mean death, or did it mean something was buried there?

Logan wanted me to go there!

He had left a clue—or maybe himself—at that place!

I checked the time on my phone. 11:30 PM.

It was too dangerous to go out now. If I woke up the three people downstairs, I might not even make it out of the house alive.

I needed help.

I opened Snapchat and tapped on Clara's profile.

Clara was Logan’s fiancée. They had been together since college, and they loved each other deeply.

If there was anyone else in this world who cared about Logan as much as I did, it was her.

But I didn't dare write too much on Snapchat. What if her phone was being monitored too?

I carefully drafted a message:

*Hey Clara, Logan ate peanut butter at dinner tonight and had zero reaction. He's been acting really strange lately. Please keep an eye on him.*

After sending it, I put my phone on silent, lay down on my bed fully clothed, and stared at the ceiling. I didn't sleep a wink all night.

The next morning, I heard the front door close downstairs.

Arthur and Helen had gone to the morning market, and the fake Logan said he was going to get his wedding suit fitted.

This was my chance!

I jumped out of bed, threw on a jacket, grabbed my backpack, and bolted out of the house.

In the taxi, I finally received Clara’s reply.

It was short, but it made my eyes sting with tears.

*I thought he was acting weird too. Where are you?*

I immediately pinned the location of the abandoned amusement park and sent it to her with a warning: *Don't tell anyone. Come alone.*

The taxi dropped me off at the edge of the overgrown wasteland.

The once-vibrant amusement park was now nothing but a graveyard of rusted metal.

The massive Ferris wheel loomed in the distance like a dead iron beast, surrounded by knee-high weeds.

I took a deep breath, wading through the dry grass toward the wheel.

The silence was deafening, broken only by the rustling of the wind through the weeds.

I reached the base of the Ferris wheel and started searching for any sign of a "cross."

After searching for about fifteen minutes, I noticed a patch of freshly disturbed dirt at the base of a thick, rusted iron pillar.

On top of the dirt, two dry branches were crossed over each other, forming a crude crucifix.

This was it!

I dropped to my knees, ignored the dirt under my fingernails, and started digging frantically with my bare hands.

The soil was loose, clearly buried very recently.

About six inches down, my fingers hit something hard.

It was a plastic Ziploc bag.

I yanked it out and wiped the dirt off the plastic.

Inside was a USB drive and an old, faded black-and-white photograph.

With shaking fingers, I pulled the photo out.

It was a young couple holding a baby boy, about a year old.

Even though it was taken decades ago, I recognized them instantly. The couple was a young Arthur and Helen!

But the baby boy’s eyes and nose... looked exactly like Logan. Or rather, exactly like the imposter!

On the back of the photo, written in faded blue ink, were the words:

*Luke’s 1st Birthday.*

Luke?

Luke Miller? (Our family name).

My head spun, and a realization hit me like a lightning bolt, shattering the fog.

Arthur and Helen had a biological son!

And their biological son looked exactly like Logan!

No, that wasn't right.

Logan looked like *him*!

Twenty years ago, when they went to the orphanage to adopt, it wasn't out of the goodness of their hearts. They chose Logan because he looked exactly like their lost biological son!

Which meant the imposter in our house right now... was their real son, Luke!

He was back!

And he had replaced Logan!

Just as the shock washed over me, I heard a faint rustling sound behind me.

*Rustle... rustle...*

The sound of dry grass snapping echoed loudly in the dead quiet of the wasteland.

I spun around.

Arthur was standing less than fifteen feet away, holding a rusted shovel.

His eyes were cold, staring at me as if I were already a corpse.