(Danielle)
“This isn’t about the past,” Anna Sophia said, her eyes locked on mine, steady and unflinching. “It’s about Samantha. And what happened to her.”
I felt the burn of frustration rise in my throat, the intense urge to tell her to shut the fuc.k up, but I didn’t. Not yet.
“And?” I asked, keeping my voice controlled. “What do you know about Samantha’s death?”
She hesitated for a heartbeat—just long enough to betray the weight of what she was about to say. “We were supposed to go out that night,” she began. “She called me right before it happened. Just casual stuff at first, what we’d wear, where to meet. Then Sam suddenly went quiet for a second. She said... she said she heard someone. A man. Talking. She couldn’t make out the words, but she said the voice mentioned your name.”
