Echoes of Tragedy

The air in the small, sterile interview room felt thick, not just with the stale scent of disinfectant and unspoken fears, but with the palpable weight of Sarah Jenkins’ trauma. Detective Miles Corbin sat across from her, his worn leather notebook open but untouched. He’d learned long ago that sometimes, the most important thing he could offer was simply his presence, a quiet anchor in the storm of a shattered mind. Sarah’s eyes, still wide and unfocused, darted around the room as if expecting the shadows to coalesce into the nightmares that plagued her. Her hands, clasped tightly in her lap, trembled.

“It’s okay, Sarah,” Miles said, his voice a low rumble, carefully modulated to be as comforting as possible. “Take your time. Just tell me what you remember.”

She swallowed, a small, dry sound. Her gaze finally settled on a framed print of a generic landscape on the wall, her focus drifting. “The… the darkness,” she whispered, her voice raspy. “It wasn’t just dark. It felt… ancient. Like it had been waiting.”