Jett looked around the bustling city of Harrisburg, Pennsylvania. The city was vibrant, with pedestrians rushing about on the sidewalks and cars zooming past on the streets. Jett had never experienced such an energetic atmosphere, so different from his quiet life in Allentown.

‘This city is so much bigger than Allentown,’ Jett mused, feeling nervous. ‘So many people, so much noise. How am I supposed to find one person in all of this? What if I mess this up? And if Sheila is dangerous, how am I going to stop her all by myself?’

As he tried to calm himself, Jett approached a middle-aged woman walking down the street. "Um, excuse me," he began, showing the woman the address on the piece of paper. "I’m new to this place. Do you know where this place is?"

The woman glanced at the address and nodded. "Yeah, I know that place. It's just a couple of blocks down that way." She pointed down the street. "You'll want to take a right at the next intersection and keep going until you reach Maple Avenue. It's a small apartment building, can’t miss it."

"Thanks," Jett replied, smiling and giving a nod before heading off in the direction given.

Jett followed the directions, lost in his thoughts as he walked. ‘Maybe she's not involved in any of this. Maybe she's just an ordinary student caught up in something she doesn't understand. But if she is, what am I even going to say to her? Maybe Eric could have been clearer with me... What's he expecting me to do when I meet Sheila?’ He took a deep breath as he continued. 'Just act natural and don't overthink it. You're just a regular guy visiting a friend.'

He arrives at the address—a modest house with a neatly trimmed lawn and a couple of flower beds along the walkway. The neighborhood was quiet, with children playing on the street and neighbors tending to their gardens. A birdhouse perched on a tree caught his attention for a moment before he walked up to the front door.

Jett walked up the path and knocked on the door. The door swung open, and a woman with warm brown eyes and curly hair smiled at him. She seemed to be in her late 40s. She seemed pleasant enough.

“Hi, can I help you?” she asked.

“Um... yes, I’m looking for Sheila Kidd,” Jett said, trying to sound as confident as possible.

“That’s my daughter. Why are you looking for her?” the woman asked, her expression turning a little more cautious.

Jett quickly thought of a reasonable lie. "Um, I'm looking for Sheila Kidd. I'm a classmate of hers, and I have some schoolwork to discuss with her."

Mrs. Kidd nodded, and she stepped aside. “Oh, okay. Come on in.” Jett entered the house, and she closed the door behind him.

The interior was cozy, with family photos on the walls and comfortable furnishings. A man, likely Sheila's father, was sitting on a couch, watching television. He turned his head to look at Jett as they passed through the living room.

“Who is this?” Mr. Kidd asked, glancing at his wife.

Mrs. Kidd spoke up. "This is one of Sheila's classmates. He's here to discuss some schoolwork with her." The man nodded and turned his attention back to the television.

Mrs. Kidd led Jett down a hallway to Sheila's room, knocking on the door and calling out, "Sheila, someone is here to see you."

"Who is it?" Sheila's voice called back from the other side of the door.

"A classmate here to discuss schoolwork with you," Mrs. Kidd replied.

"Okay, let him in," Sheila said.

Mrs. Kidd left, and Jett opened the door. Inside the room, he found Sheila sitting at a desk, studying something on her laptop. She looked up with surprise when she saw him.

Sheila was a young woman, around Jett’s age but slightly younger, with curly brown hair pulled back in a loose ponytail. Her green eyes were sharp and alert, and she had a light dusting of freckles across her cheeks. She wore a loose maroon T-shirt and black jeans, with a soft gray cardigan draped over her shoulders.

“Uh... hi,” Sheila said, clearly confused and surprised. “You’re not one of my classmates. What’s going on?”

Jett took a moment to assess the situation, quickly noticing the items in the room—a stack of books on her desk, a few pictures of Sheila with her friends and family on the wall, and some decorations.

"Who are you?" Sheila demanded, crossing her arms over her chest.

Jett felt a knot in his stomach. "I usually stay at the back of class so you don’t really notice me," he suggested, trying to remain as calm as possible.

Sheila raised an eyebrow. "That doesn't sound right to me. What are you really here for?"

Jett’s thoughts ran wild. ‘Eric really loves making my life difficult. Couldn't he at least have given me a little more information before sending me into this?’ He took a deep breath, trying to figure out how to proceed.

Sheila, growing impatient, repeated her question. "I—I'm waiting. Why are you here?"

"Do you know about the deaths of Jason Turman and Fred Coker?" he asked, hoping to take control of the situation before she called the authorities or something worse.

The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

"Are you FBI?" Sheila shot back.

Jett blinked. "What?" he asked, taken aback by the sudden question.

"I've watched enough movies to know what's going on here. You're FBI, aren't you? Or maybe even CIA..." Sheila continued, her suspicion growing.

Jett quickly shook his head. "No, I'm not with the FBI or CIA. Definitely not," he said, holding back a laugh at the absurdity of the conversation.

Sheila continued to question his identity. "Are you part of the Men in Black?"

Jett glanced down at his outfit: a plain white T-shirt, dark jeans, and a gray jacket, far from any kind of uniform. "I’m not even wearing black," he pointed out.

Sheila pressed on, "Then who sent you?"

Jett's eyes flicked to Sheila's fingers, searching for any sign of a ring, but he did not see one. Then again, she could have stashed the ring somewhere else. Was she a wielder or not?

"Are you with the DIA?" Sheila persisted.

"I don’t even know what that is. And no, I am not from any secret agency," Jett replied.

"Okay then, who sent you?" Sheila pressed.

Jett stumbled for a moment. "Nobody sent me… for the most part."

Sheila’s patience wore thin. "Well, you better start talking or I’ll call the cops," she threatened.

Jett wished he had claimed to be FBI or CIA; at least that would have bought him some more time. He struggled for the right words but finally mumbled, "Well… Um… Please, don’t call the cops."

Sheila ignored Jett and pulled out her phone. "Yeah, I’m calling the cops."

As she dialed the number, Jett panicked. "I know about your ring!" he suddenly blurted out.

Sheila froze, her thumb hovering over the call button. She stared at Jett in shock. "You what?" she asked.

Jett realized he had her attention now. He took a deep breath, then repeated, "I know about the ring you have."

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Sheila replied.

Jett wondered, ‘Maybe she isn’t a wielder? What do I do now?’

He decided to take a risk. He held up his own ring for Sheila to see, then he said, "I have a ring like yours too so you don’t have to lie. You will be hunted down and killed in just three hours if you don’t show me the ring."

Sheila’s face paled, and she took a step back. "What? Who’s going to kill me?"

Jett tried to sound as serious as he could. "You will attract dangerous attention if you keep that ring and don’t know how to use it. Show me the ring, and I can help you."

Sheila rushed to her desk, opening a drawer. She returned with a tarnished bronze signet ring in her hand. It had a rat design engraved along its surface, with beautiful silver engravings and green jewels implanted in it.

"Where did you find the ring?" Jett asked.

Sheila nervously tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and explained, "I found it on a trip to the countryside about a month ago. It looked like an antique, and I thought it would be a cool piece of jewelry."

Jett nodded. "What have you done with it so far?"

Sheila shifted uncomfortably. "Nothing, but…"

Jett prompted her, "But what?"

Sheila looked at the ring in her hand, her eyes troubled. "It transforms me into something whenever it glows."

Jett blinked, realizing this could be crucial to the murder. "What does it transform you into?"

Sheila sighed, her voice quiet. "A rat."

Jett couldn’t hide his disappointment.

‘Really? That’s all?’ he thought. "That’s all you know about it?"

"Yes," she nodded.

Jett cleared his throat, shifting the conversation to more pressing matters. "Well then. Um… you’re a medical student, right?"

Sheila nodded. "Yeah."

"Did you happen to perform any of your experiments on Fred or Jason?"

Sheila shook her head firmly. "No, I would never do that."

Jett pressed on. "You were in contact with them before they died, right?"

"What do they have to do with the ring?" Sheila asked, her suspicion getting the best of her again.

Jett lied, trying to keep her on track. "Their murders could be something much bigger than you and it could all be connected to your ring," he said, trying to sound mysterious.

Sheila’s eyes widened, understanding slowly dawning on her. "Oh, crap."

Jett thought, ‘Eric was right. I was an idiot earlier for thinking I was special when I got my ring.’ He continued, "So, I’ll need to ask you a lot of questions."

Sheila then said, "Alright but can we go somewhere else?"

Jett nodded in agreement, "Sure, that’s alright."

Sheila took her ring and slipped it onto her finger, taking a moment to gaze at it thoughtfully. They left her room, walking down the stairs and making their way to the living room.

Sheila’s mother, Mrs. Kidd, smiled warmly at the two. "Are you all finished up in there?"

Sheila nodded. "Yeah, we’re done." She glanced at Jett, unsure of how much to say to her parents.

Mrs. Kidd looked at Jett. "And what’s your name, young man?"

Jett awkwardly shuffled his feet and introduced himself. "I’m Jett, ma’am."

Mr. Kidd, a tall man with graying hair, turned from the TV and gave Jett a measured look. "So, Jett, what brings you to our apartment?"

Jett fumbled for a moment before finding his words. "I’m just... visiting. I was hoping Sheila could help me out with something."

Sheila interjected. "It’s just school stuff, Dad. Nothing to worry about."

Mrs. Kidd raised an eyebrow but did not press further. "Well, alright then. Just make sure to be back home before dinner, Sheila."

Sheila agreed, and she and Jett made their way out of the house.

As they walked down the road, Sheila turned to Jett. "You have a ring like me and you clearly have a lot of information about it. So, if you aren’t FBI or CIA, what are you?"

Jett scratched the back of his head, trying to think quickly. "The... Wielders... Association?"

Sheila raised an eyebrow. "Are you lying?"

"No, I'm just a new member, so I don't really do things like this often," Jett replied, trying to play it cool.

Sheila seemed skeptical but continued with her questions, "So what do you guys do in the Association?"

Jett responded, "Find and protect ring wielders like you."

"So there are other people like me who have rings?" Sheila asked.

Jett nodded. "Yes, there are others. We work to keep them safe and make sure the rings are used responsibly."

Sheila then asked, "Then how does the murder of Fred and Jason have to do with me?"

Jett lied further, "A lot of ring wielders I track down are evil people, and they abuse the power of the rings. Some of them cannot control their powers, so they end up accidentally killing people…"

Sheila interrupted, "You think I accidentally murdered Fred and Jason?"

Jett tried to tread carefully. "It’s a possibility, but then again, another wielder could be framing you or trying to manipulate you."

Sheila shook her head adamantly. "I didn’t kill them. I would never kill them."

Jett stopped walking and turned to face Sheila. "Were they friends of yours?"

Sheila nodded. "They were my classmates and part of my study group. We had been collaborating on a research project for our medical classes, so I was in regular contact with them."

Jett thought to himself, ‘She seems sincere. She might be a wielder, but her ring is harmless enough. Ryan is probably the more likely suspect.’ He then said, "If you aren’t the killer, then you have nothing to worry about."

As they continued walking, Jett’s stomach began to growl audibly.

Sheila noticed and asked, "You’re hungry?"

Jett nodded, sheepishly. "Yeah, I can’t remember the last time I ate."

Sheila looked around and spotted a food cart in the corner. "Let’s stop here. I’ll get you something to eat."

Jett smiled appreciatively. "Alright then."