It had been four days since the email.
Four days since her eyes froze on the words that clawed their way into her every thought:
“Stripper killer.”
She hadn’t spoken about it to anyone. She hadn’t slept well either. Instead, she buried herself in work. That was the plan. Stay busy. Stay focused.
But inside the studio, with Mia adjusting lighting and soft music humming in the background, her body was present - her mind wasn’t.
It kept drifting back, back to that awful night.
The cold, sticky floor beneath her skin. The sting in her arm. Disoriented, waking up, breathing heavily. The air smelled of blood, foul and metallic. And then, her head turning slowly to the side.
A body.
Lying next to her.
Motionless. Blood pooling.
She couldn’t make out the face. She remembered the smear of
