The soft light of the bedside lamp cast a warm glow over Cathy’s pale face, illuminating the tear tracks glistening on her cheeks.

Her voice was quiet, almost monotone, as she recounted what had happened to her.

But her words were like daggers, slicing through Annabelle’s heart with every syllable.

“They killed him with a knife,” Cathy repeated, her voice trembling but steady. “I know him. I have seen him talking to you before. His name is Jose, but he wouldn’t talk to me. I was so scared when his friend grabbed me. I couldn’t scream because he covered my mouth. But then I saw Jose, and he wouldn’t talk...