The precinct was quiet at 3am. Except for the sound of a projector.
Claire stood in front of a wall covered in photos.
Left side: Berlin 1992. Nine plates. Nine missing people.
Right side: Washington, now. Two plates. One missing woman.
In the middle: one name circled in red.
DANIEL REED
“Storage 9 had a guest list,” Claire said to her partner. “10 names. 9 crossed out. The last one is him.”
She threw a file on the table. DR. MARKUS HALE - HUNGER THERAPY NOTES.
“He wasn’t treating patients,” Claire read. “He was feeding something. He called it ‘The Hunger’. Said it moves from host to host every 30 years. Needs a table. Needs people who sit down and agree to stay.”
“Agree to what?” the partner asked.
“To not get up. To not eat. To wait.” Claire closed the file. “The empty plate isn’t for food. It’s for the next host.”
The door opened. Daniel was brought in. No handcuffs. He came willingly.
He sat down. Looked at the photos.
“They’re beautiful,” he said softly. “The tables.”
Claire leaned forward. “Daniel. Did your sister agree to it?”
Daniel smiled. Tired. “She was tired of being hungry. We all are.”
He tapped his temple. “It starts in your head. At 3am. You wake up. You go to the kitchen. You set the table. You wait. And if you wait long enough... the hunger stops.”
Claire felt cold. “Where is she, Daniel?”
He looked at the empty chair across from him.
“She’s setting her own table now,” he said. “In someone else’s apartment.
It’s my turn to host.”
The lights flickered.
From Daniel’s pocket, a brass key fell to the floor. B.P.H. - Storage 9
Claire picked it up. Under the key, scratched into the metal: 10
Daniel stood up. “Can I go home now, Agent Morgan?
I have to set the table.”
Claire didn’t stop him.
Because on the wall behind him, in the reflection of the glass...
there were 10 chairs.
And for a second, she thought she saw herself sitting in the 10th one.