Chapter Seventeen

Maya burst into the room. Her breath caught in her throat.

It looked exactly like she remembered—the same bed, the familiar shelves stacked with books, the dress Star had worn that first day still folded neatly on the chair.

But Star was nowhere in sight.

“Star?” she called, her voice shaking. No answer.

She rushed to the table. A half-eaten apple sat there, browning slowly. Maya’s chest tightened. She was here. Recently.

She tore through the room—flinging open the bathroom door, checking the closet, even peeking into the small kitchenette tucked in the corner. Nothing. Just silence.

“Star?” she shouted again, louder now. “Where are you?! Please!”

No response.

Her knees buckled, and she sank to the ground, her palms pressed against the cold floor. Panic rose in her throat like bile. Her entire body was trembling, and for a brief moment, she felt completely helpless.

Then—gunshots.

Loud. Sharp. Unrelenting.

They echoed through the building like thunder. Maya scre