Took three sleepless nights to finally grasp the reality of that post-party night, when the headlights of your dad’s car—the one you had borrowed—shattered because of you. But far worse than the cracks on the car was what lay beneath the tires.

He followed you everywhere. No matter where you went, he was there—a reminder of what happened, a gnawing guilt, that obsessive “confess—you’re a killer” stuck in your head. That boy, the student you hit. Dark brown eyes and a thin body burned into your unprepared memory like PTSD. Was he a ghost… or just your hallucination?

— So… maybe at least say sorry?

For the first time in three days, he spoke, just as the TV announced the discovery of the body found on the outskirts of the forest, confirmed the identity of Willy, and declared a search for the one responsible…