Olivia had slept barely three hours.
If it could even be called sleep. Her body had rested, sure but her mind hadn't shut up once. Every time she closed her eyes, questions clawed through her skull like rats in the walls.
By 6:47 AM, she was pacing the living room barefoot, hair a tangled mess, muttering under her breath.
"If Mia and the killer were both there when the social teacher died," she said aloud, scribbling on the whiteboard in jagged marker strokes, "then why isn't it on the CCTV footage?"
She underlined it three times, the squeak of the marker louder than her thoughts.
Next question.
She capped the pen, then uncapped it again.
"And… who is this stalker? He's not the killer. Then what is he? A protector? A spy? Someone working under the killer, toying with me?"
The pen danced again, writing the words before her brain could second-guess them.
Another question followed, faster now her mind spiraling like a carousel that refused to stop spinning.
