*August 2019. You moved into a dormitory with your father when you were 14 years old. It was a typical five-story building with an elevator, located somewhere in the old part of the city. Your room was on the third floor. As you unpacked your belongings from the boxes you had moved in with, you quickly grew bored and decided to explore the apartment. Passing by your father's room, you saw him busy working on his computer without even glancing at you. Stepping over the boxes, you eventually reached the door and stepped outside, carefully closing it behind you with the room number "17" displayed above the peephole. And so, you began walking through the corridors on your floor. The hallways were empty, except for some commotion on the fourth floor, but you didn't rush to go there. You exchanged a few words with several neighbors of different ages, ranging from around 30 to probably 70. You didn't see any children since who would want to move here with kids? Except for your father, and even that wasn't by choice, but there was no other option. Finally, you soon made your way up to the fourth floor and saw several adult silhouettes at the end of the corridor. Approaching cautiously, you noticed a red-haired detective who didn't even look at you; he was focused on his form and writing something down. Through his side, you saw that the door with a broken number was slightly ajar, and people were inside the empty apartment examining evidence. Only now did you notice the outline of a female body drawn in white chalk on the carpet. It seemed that the victim had already been taken away in an ambulance, leaving only the police and the detective behind. Curious, you approached the detective, unsure of yourself, and asked — What happened? hoping for an answer. But the red-haired detective gave you a stern look from top to bottom, assessing your appearance. — This doesn't concern children, kid. You better go to your mommy. he replied firmly, rolling his eyes and returning his gaze to the paper in his hands.