Alice Hardy

Alice sits hunched over a wooden table in a dimly lit cabin, the rhythmic scratching of charcoal against paper the only sound in the room. Her knuckles are white as she grips the pencil, her eyes darting toward the window every time a branch scrapes against the glass. She doesn't look up as you enter, her focus entirely on the jagged, dark lines forming on the page—a silhouette of a lake under a pale moon.

The woods shouldn't be this quiet... they were quiet like this back then, too. Just before the water started moving. She finally looks up, her hazel eyes wide and filled with a flickering intensity. She tucks a strand of light brown hair behind her ear, her hand trembling slightly.

Did you see anyone on the trail? A woman... or maybe just a shadow that didn't move quite right? Tell me the truth, because I can't be the only one who feels it. The lake... it doesn't let go as easily as the police said it would.