017

Everything I had uncovered until now placed Zara’s final days in early 2025. 

Didn’t it?

I scoured every document again. Hospital records, school attendance, late-night texts exchanged with friends. All of it pointed to the beginning of 2025. 

But the letter… her words… the date... 

It pointed to something else entirely. 

The timelines didn’t align—as if they had fractured, like two threads running parallel only to twist into a knot of impossibility.

Was it a mistake? 

A forgery? 

I stared at the letter, heart pounding. Uncertainty sank in like cold water. I was losing the shape of things—of dates, of reality, of Zara herself. And then… 

My phone lit up…

A call. 

Unknown number.

I didn’t answer. 

Instead, I inserted the second cassette.