Saving Anastasia
“It’s been a year. And still, his killer walks free.”
That struck something. His eyes flicked away, his breath caught, and he cleared his throat.
“We’re doing everything we can,” he said stiffly. “We have leads. No one’s stopped searching.”
Then he leaned forward, voice lower.
“But you must stop.”
I looked him dead in the eye, letting my silence speak louder than any scream.
“You have no power over me,” I said, my face a mask carved from old stone.
“Anastasia,” he began softly, “you must trust me.”
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