The kitchen light was on.

Elliot Voss stood in the doorway of his flat with rainwater dripping from his coat sleeve and stared at the yellow glow spilling across the floorboards.

He was almost certain he had switched it off before leaving.

Almost.

The uncertainty bothered him more than the possibility itself.

A long overnight shift could blur details. He knew that. By morning he often couldn't remember whether he'd locked his car or brushed his teeth before bed.

After a few seconds he laughed quietly, switched the light off, and headed back into the rain.

Three hours later he sat inside Studio B at Radio Northshire.

The station occupied the upper floor of an aging brick building overlooking a market road. Across the street, the all-night café glowed through the drizzle. A delivery lorry rolled past. Somewhere below, a drain rattled with rushing rainwater.

Ordinary sounds. Ordinary night.

Elliot adjusted his microphone.

The red ON AIR light illuminated.

"Good evening. You're listening to Radio Northshire. I'm Elliot Voss, keeping you company through the small hours."

Music rolled. Advertisements followed.

The familiar rhythm settled around him.

For nearly an hour, nothing interrupted it.

Then an emergency tone cut through the broadcast.

Elliot frowned.

Weather warnings occasionally arrived through the system. Flood alerts. Road closures.

The automated voice began.

"This is an emergency announcement from local authorities and emergency services. Residents are advised to avoid the town centre until further notice."

The message repeated twice.

Then vanished.

Elliot leaned toward the microphone.

"Looks like something's happening downtown tonight. We'll pass along any updates as they come in."

He expected a chemical spill. Maybe a gas leak. Something practical.

The phone lines lit up almost immediately.

The first caller sounded annoyed.

"Traffic's completely blocked. Police everywhere."

A second caller reported ambulances racing toward the hospital.

A third insisted she'd seen a riot near the shopping district.

Ten minutes later another caller dismissed the idea.

"There wasn't any riot. People were just running."

"Running from what?" Elliot asked.

"I don't know."

The uncertainty lingered.

Shortly after midnight another emergency message arrived.

The wording had changed.

Residents were advised to remain indoors.

The town centre was no longer mentioned.

A few minutes later a caller named Derek swore he had just driven past the hospital.

"They've got officers stopping cars."

"For what reason?"

"No idea."

Another caller phoned five minutes later.

"My sister works there. She says nobody's stopping cars."

Elliot sat back.

Contradictions piled up faster than answers.

He tried to keep his voice steady.

Tried to sound like a radio host instead of a man increasingly aware that nobody seemed to know what was happening.

The next emergency announcement only deepened the confusion.

Avoid public gathering areas.

The message lasted less than twenty seconds.

No explanation followed.

At one-fifteen in the morning, Inspector Reynolds called.

Elliot knew him only in passing.

The inspector sounded exhausted.

"We need you to relay information."

"What information?"

"Tell people to stay indoors."

Elliot waited.

"What are they staying away from?"

Silence.