The house was quiet, the TV casting dim light across the room. Sidney sat beside me, but I barely noticed. My mind wouldn’t stop racing.

“It has to be someone we know,” I murmured, gripping my sweater. “Someone close. Someone with access to you…”

Sidney sighed. “Michael, I don’t want to talk about this.”

But I kept going.

“The killer keeps targeting you but never finishes the job. What if that’s the trick? What if you’re not just the victim?”

She tensed beside me. “Michael.”

“What if you planned this?” I said, voice low. “Think about it—your mom was the first murder. What if that’s where it started? What if this is revenge?”

Sidney’s arms crossed, her posture rigid.

“You’d have the perfect cover,” I pressed on. “Everyone pities you. No one would suspect you.”

“Michael, stop.”

“What if it’s all you?” I exhaled sharply. “Maybe you wanted control. Maybe you—”

“Shut up!”

Her voice cracked like a whip, and I froze.

She shot to her feet, trembling. Her eyes burned with fury.

“You seriously think I’d kill my friends? After everything? After my mom?”

I opened my mouth, but she cut me off.

“I’ve lost everything, and now you—you—are accusing me?” Her voice shook. “Do you even hear yourself?”

I swallowed hard.

“Get out.”

And just like that, everything shattered.