"Yes," I said. "I was at Professor Anderson's apartment."
Stillness stayed on Dean Morrison's face. A slow nod came next, as if my words had lined up perfectly with his guesses.
"Thank you for being honest, Miss Miller." He opened a folder on his desk. "That makes this easier."
Fear hit hard. His voice held no comfort - "easier" sounded like trouble instead.
That complaint came without a name, like before. Out came a photograph. It moved sideways over the wood surface.
Outside Daniel's place, it stood me. A date stamped on the image - Tuesday evening, when things nearly slipped past control. That moment rewrote every next thing. There I was.
How'd you come across that? I could barely speak.
A stack of pictures arrived along with the report. From his pocket, he slid one free - me stepping through the entrance door. A second followed - showing me exit much later, shirt untucked, coat swapped, strands of hair loose across my forehead.
