She closed the laptop. Stood up. Grabbed her coat.
Mara's throat tightened. She'd watched long enough to memorize Bethany's micro-expressions: the slight tremor in her lower lip before she said something true, the way her left hand always touched her collarbone when she was scared. Bethany 02 Mp4
Bethany touched her collarbone now.
Mara leaned forward. She knew what came next, but she always leaned forward. She closed the laptop
The file was named: BETHANY_02.MP4 .
She reached toward the camera. The screen went black. Mara's throat tightened
Bethany sat in a wooden chair, back straight, hands folded on her lap. The room behind her was bare—pale yellow wallpaper, a single window with rain streaking down. She wore a gray sweater, her dark hair pulled into a loose ponytail. On the table beside her: a glass of water, untouched.