The Night That Took Her
It began like every other teenage romance, stolen glances, late-night calls, promises, and whispers in the dark. But love that burns too hot always leaves scars. And this one left a body. Lucas Rowe was the only one standing, I mean that's what everyone assumes.
The police don't believe him.
Neither do his friends.
And deep down... he isn't sure he believes himself.
Because the night she died is a blur of shattered glass, screaming, and the heavy, metallic scent of something that will never wash off his skin. He remembers holding her. He remembers the warmth leaving her body. But he can't remember if his hands were the ones that took her life.
Now the walls are closing in.
Every question the detectives ask feels like a trap. Every friend's face looks like a mask. Every memory twist into something darker. And somewhere out there, the real killer is walking free, someone who knows exactly what happened that night which is Elijah... and is counting on Lucas taking the fall.
Because the worst part about the truth?
Sometimes, you can't survive knowing it.
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