Two days later, I found myself sitting at a small coffee shop, waiting for Emily. I’d sent her a text pleading for a meeting, and to my relief, she agreed. The café was a quiet refuge, with the gentle hum of conversations and the scent of freshly brewed coffee. When she finally walked in, her eyes met mine briefly before she looked away. Her demeanor was calm, almost too calm, and it unnerved me.
“I got your message,” she said, sliding into the seat across from me. “I knew you’d have questions.” Her voice was steady, but there was an edge to it, like she was bracing herself for an onslaught.
“Who is Cassandra? And why did you give me that transcript?” I asked, trying to keep my voice even.
Emily sighed, running a hand through her hair. “Cassandra is… a friend of Mom’s. She’s been telling us things for years, things that have happened. We thought you should know about this one.”
Her words hung between us, heavy and undeniable. I wanted to ask why they hadn’t told me sooner, but something in Emily’s eyes stopped me. There was fear there, lurking beneath her calm exterior.
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