Vivian stepped outside, and the cold hit her instantly.

She hadn’t checked the weather before leaving. Hadn’t thought about grabbing a jacket, hadn’t registered the temperature at all until now, when the morning air sank into her damp skin, chilling her down to the bone.

Her steps were stiff, her limbs slow to cooperate, like her body was still waking up.

The campus looked the same.

The sidewalks were crowded with students heading to class, some moving in groups, others walking alone with their headphones in, sipping coffee, scrolling through their phones. A couple of bikes passed by, wheels humming against the pavement.

It was normal.

It shouldn’t have been.

Vivian kept walking, blending into the crowd, her bag slung over one shoulder, her hands shoved deep into her pockets.

Everything was too bright, the sun reflecting off the glass buildings, the sky too clear, the world around her moving too easily—as if nothing had changed.

But she had changed.

Her limbs felt weightless and heavy at the same time. The air against her skin felt wrong, like she wasn’t actually here, like she was watching herself from somewhere else, from someone else’s body.

She kept expecting someone to stop her.

To look at her too long.

To see it.

To know.

Her fingers curled into fists inside her pockets, nails pressing against her palms.

She needed to get to class.

That was the goal.

The only goal.

If she sat in her usual seat, if she pulled out her notebook, if she listened to the lecture and took notes, then maybe—just maybe—she could forget.

Maybe she could make it feel real again.

Maybe she could pretend.

She crossed the quad, her steps falling into the rhythm of the students around her. Keep moving. Keep breathing. Keep walking.

Her phone buzzed in her pocket.

She ignored it.

She couldn’t look at it.

Not yet.

Instead, she walked faster, letting the sound of footsteps and conversation drown out everything else, letting herself disappear into the crowd, into the noise, into a world that was still moving forward—

Even if she wasn’t.

The walk to class felt longer than it should have.

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Vivian had taken this path a hundred times before—from her dorm, across the quad, up the stairs to the lecture hall—but today, it felt stretched out, like the campus had grown larger overnight.

Her hands stayed clenched in her pockets, fingers pressed into the fabric. The cold still hadn’t settled in properly, still felt like something happening to someone else, not her.

She moved through the crowd, unnoticed.

That should have relieved her.

Instead, it made her stomach twist.

Because they didn’t know.

None of them knew.

She could bump into someone, she could brush past them, and they wouldn’t flinch.

They had no idea that she had spent the night washing blood from her skin.

That Vince was dead.

That she had killed a man.

She kept walking.

The campus was buzzing with life. Students were laughing, complaining about upcoming midterms, groaning about assignments. Someone was playing music from a speaker, too loud, the bass rattling against her chest as she passed.

Everything was normal.

And she had never felt more like she didn’t belong.

Her phone vibrated again.

She ignored it.

She was almost there.

Up the steps. Through the doors. Down the hall.

Her fingers curled tighter inside her pockets as she reached the lecture hall.

The door loomed in front of her.

She hesitated.

The rational part of her brain told her to keep moving, to push through, to act normal. But another part—the part that hadn’t stopped shaking since she woke up—wanted to turn around, walk out, and never come back.

Because he would be in there.

Noah.

She had spent the entire night trying to forget the way he had looked at her.

The way he had smiled.

The way he had leaned in and whispered in her ear like it was a secret meant only for her.

“Right now, you look like you just killed a man.”

Her stomach twisted.

She couldn’t do this.

She had to do this.

Her pulse pounded as she reached for the handle, pushing the door open.

The noise from inside the lecture hall swallowed her whole.

The lecture hall was already half full.

Students were scattered throughout the tiered seating, flipping through notebooks, scrolling through their phones, or talking quietly in small groups. A few sat alone, lost in thought or waiting for class to begin. Everything looked exactly as it always had.

Vivian stepped inside, keeping her hands buried in her pockets and her shoulders tense. She focused on her usual seat, third row, second from the aisle, letting the familiarity of routine guide her movements. If she could sit in the same place, pull out her notebook, and pretend to listen, then maybe she could convince herself that today was like any other day.

A voice called her name.

She stopped abruptly, her pulse kicking up as she turned toward the sound.

Emma stood nearby, giving her a small wave, a hesitant smile forming on her lips. “Hey, you okay? You weren’t answering your texts.”

Vivian parted her lips to respond, but the words didn’t come immediately. For a moment, she struggled to form a sentence that sounded natural.

“Yeah. Sorry. I—I was just…” She trailed off, shaking her head slightly, as if brushing off the question would make it disappear. Her throat felt tight, and the weight of unspoken words pressed against her ribs.

Emma frowned slightly and tilted her head. “You sure? You look—”

Vivian felt her stomach clench.

Emma did not finish her sentence, but she did not need to.

Vivian already knew what she was going to say.

She looked different.

She looked like something was wrong.

She forced a quiet laugh and shrugged. “I didn’t sleep much.”

Emma studied her for a moment, her expression still carrying a trace of concern, but eventually, she nodded. “Yeah, I feel that. It’s been a long week.”

Vivian gave a small nod in return, hoping that would be enough to end the conversation. Before Emma could say anything else, she felt a shift in the air, something subtle but undeniable.

Her body tensed.

Noah was there.

She turned her head slightly, eyes flicking toward his usual seat as if she had no control over the movement.

He wasn’t looking at her.

He sat where he always did, his posture relaxed, one arm resting on the desk. He was speaking to someone beside him, his tone low, his expression composed, as if nothing had changed.

Then, just before she could look away, he glanced in her direction.

It was brief. A fleeting look. A small, polite smile. The kind he had always given her when they crossed paths outside of their usual debates.

It would have meant nothing yesterday.

But today, it made her stomach turn.

Vivian inhaled slowly, steadying herself, willing her pulse to slow.

Then, before she could stop herself, before she could turn around and leave, before she could convince herself that she had another option, she walked to her seat.

She sat down.

Noah continued his conversation as if she had never been there at all.

Got it. Here’s the revision with a different detective:

Her phone buzzed again.

She swallowed, her throat tight, before swiping to accept the call.

“Hello?”

A pause.

Then—

“Miss Jiang?”

The voice was steady, practiced. Male.

“This is Detective Ryan Mercer with the SFPD. We need to ask you a few questions about Vincent Ma.”