They found Francine Mitchell, the girl sobbing in the bathroom, mascara streaked down her cheeks, from Jordan’s USB. She was leaving her small brick house, a tote bag slung over her shoulder. Her red hair was pulled into a ponytail, and even under her winter coat, it was obvious she was pregnant. As soon as she spotted Lia, she blanched. She fumbled with her keys, trying to unlock her car door. Lia stepped forward. “Francine.” “I can’t talk. I’m already late,” she blurted, voice rising. Dante rested his hand on the car door, calm but firm. “We need five minutes. Then you can go.” Francine’s eyes flicked to Lia, suspicion warring with exhaustion. Lia stepped closer, holding her hands up. “Francine… it’s me. Lia. Remember? Ms. Johnson's English class? You sat two rows behind

