Chapter 2

The night felt long. I barely slept, replaying my last few conversations with Liam in my head. A few weeks ago, he' d been his normal, quirky self, going on about a new cryptocurrency or a documentary he' d watched. Then, about a week ago, he' d started talking about a "wellness group" he' d joined. He said they were teaching him how to unlock his full potential. I' d brushed it off as another one of his phases. Now, I wasn' t so sure. Was this group behind the ribs? Was he a victim in this, or was he willingly trying to hurt me?

The conflict tore at me. This was Liam, my friend since freshman year, the guy who helped me move three times and never asked for gas money. But the voice on the phone wasn't the Liam I knew.

The next morning, I woke up to the smell of coffee and something else, something rich and savory. Sarah was in the kitchen, wearing my favorite t-shirt.

"Morning, sleepyhead," she said, smiling brightly. "I thought you could use a healthy breakfast. I' m making you my special bone broth."

There was another pot on the stove, different from mine. Steam rose from it.

"You didn' t have to do that," I said, my voice tight.

"I wanted to. You' ve been so stressed lately. This will help you relax." She ladled some of the steaming broth into a mug and held it out to me. Her broth looked darker than mine, almost black. It had a strange, metallic smell under the savory aroma.

"Here, drink up."

My mind raced back to the warning. Be careful who you trust. Even those closest to you.

I looked at the mug, then at her smiling face. My heart hammered against my ribs.

"I, uh, I have to take a work call," I stammered, fumbling for my phone. "It' s important. The London office."

I backed out of the kitchen, pretending to answer a call. "Hello? Yes, this is Ethan."

I locked myself in my bedroom, my back pressed against the door. My hands were shaking. She was trying to poison me. Or worse. She was part of it. The realization was a cold, hard weight in my stomach. I felt completely and utterly alone.

I had to finish my own plan. I waited until I heard her go into the bathroom to take a shower. I ran to the kitchen, grabbed my pot of beef bone soup, and poured a cup. I set up my phone, hit record, and forced a smile.

"Here you go, Liam," I said to the camera. "Down the hatch."

I brought the mug to my lips and pretended to take a long, deep drink, making sure to swallow loudly. I gave a thumbs-up to the camera.

"All done. Hope this helps, man."

I stopped recording and sent the video file to Liam. A wave of relief washed over me. It was done. The lie was sent.

When Sarah came out of the bathroom, I was sitting on the couch, pretending to scroll through emails. The mug of her dark broth was still on the counter, untouched.

She looked at the mug, then at me.

"Did you send Liam his video?" she asked.

"Yeah. Just sent it."

A strange look crossed her face. It wasn' t anger or disappointment. It was... relief. She seemed genuinely glad that the video was sent, that this part of the ordeal was over. She walked over, picked up her mug of broth, and poured it down the sink without another word.

Her reaction didn' t make sense. If she wanted me to drink her broth, why would she be relieved that I drank my own? It was a puzzle I couldn't solve.

Later that day, after Sarah had left, I went to clean up the kitchen. I picked up the pot I had used, the one with the beef bones. I was about to dump them in the trash when I noticed something odd.

The bones, which had been a normal, pale color, were now streaked with dark, ugly veins. They looked like they were bruised from the inside out. A spiderweb of black lines covered their surface.

I dropped the pot in the sink with a clatter. This wasn't natural. This wasn't a normal chemical reaction.

It was then that all the pieces clicked into place with a horrifying certainty. The human ribs. Liam' s insane request. The anonymous warning about a Soul Swap. Sarah' s insistence on the broth. And now, the grotesque transformation of the beef bones.

This wasn' t a prank or a mental breakdown. It was a calculated attack. And I was the target.