Chapter 5

"Look! It's the crime scene!"

"Oh my god… the truth is coming out!"

The crowd burst into gasps and shouts.

Ivana jerked her head around, her eyes locked on the screen.

The woods on that rainy night were eerily dark and terrifying.

I held an umbrella, my voice trembling as I called out,

"Who's there? Who is it?"

But there was no answer.

Only the rain poured down violently, pounding against the umbrella.

Then I heard it—a muffled sob coming from the thicket.

On screen, the sixteen-year-old me pushed through the wet branches, calling Lucy's name again and again.

I found her.

She was lying in the mud, her dress ripped, her eyes empty. Rain fell on her face and she didn't even blink.

"Lucy! Lucy, what happened?!"

I dropped to my knees and pulled her into my arms.

Her lips moved but no sound came out.

Then a branch snapped behind me.

I spun around.

The screen showed a figure stumbling through the trees. Rain blurred his features at first.

The crowd held its breath.

"Show his face!" someone screamed. "Who is it?"

The figure stepped into the narrow beam of my dropped flashlight.

The gasp from the audience was deafening.

But no one's gasp was louder than Ivana's.

Because on the giant screen, clear as daylight, was the face of Mr. Priscilla. Her father.

His shirt was untucked. His belt was undone. Sweat and rain ran down his face. His eyes were wild with panic.

"Selena—" his voice on the recording was hoarse. "I—I didn't mean—she was just walking by and I—"

In the memory, I didn't scream. I didn't cry. I just stared.

Because this was the man who had carried me on his shoulders when I was seven, after my parents died. The man who brought me extra food when the village ignored me. The man I called Uncle.

"Please," he begged. "Ivana can never know. Promise me. Swear on your life."

Behind me, Lucy finally spoke. Her voice was barely audible over the rain.

"He's right, Selena. Don't tell Iva. She'll die."

On the stage, the real Ivana staggered backward.

Her face was the color of ash.

Her mouth opened. Closed. Opened again.

No sound came out.

The crowd erupted. Some people screamed in horror. Others started crying. The live chat exploded so fast that every platform's servers crashed within minutes.

[It was her father?!]

[Selena was protecting Ivana this whole time?!]

[Oh my God… she endured ten years of this for her friend…]

Lucy's father fell to his knees. The hatred he'd carried for a decade dissolved into something worse—understanding.

"She knew," he whispered. "She knew the whole time and she couldn't tell us because it would have destroyed Ivana."

Maya, still clutching her doll, suddenly went very still. Then she started screaming—a raw, primal sound that cut through every other noise.

"My baby! He killed my baby!"

On the stage, I slumped in the chair. Blood soaked through my hospital gown.

The machine was still running.

"Turn it off," someone in the tech team said. "Turn it off, she's going to die!"

But the memory wasn't done.