Alibi Unraveled

The morning light crept through the boarded windows of the old farmhouse, casting long shadows across the dusty floor. The group had gathered in the main room, a tense circle of weary faces. Chris stood near the fireplace, his arms crossed, his eyes moving from person to person. Yasmine sat on the couch with Marie nestled against her side, while Monte leaned against the wall, his gaze fixed on the floor. The air was thick with unspoken accusations.

Since Trey’s body had been found—his throat torn, but not by the dead—the fragile trust among them had shattered. Chris had spent the night turning over every detail, every glance, every whispered word. He had questioned each survivor, but the answers were slippery, like smoke through his fingers. Now, as the sun rose, he knew he had to force a crack in the silence.

“We can’t go on like this,” Chris said, his voice low but firm. “Someone in this room killed Trey. And until we figure out who, we’re all in danger.”