Chapter 2

I tried to work on the Poetic Justice Killer case differently.

No digital notes at first.

Everything handwritten, locked away.

I met sources in noisy coffee shops, never the same place twice.

I felt like a spy in my own life.

It didn't matter.

Two weeks into my new, secretive investigation, Jessica Evans broke another story.

The Poetic Justice Killer.

She presented my exact, unpublished theories about his victim selection, his twisted literary references.

Theories I hadn't even fully formed in my own mind, only jotted down as possibilities.

How?

She stood on TV, looking earnest, talking about her "empathic connection" to the killer's psyche.

The public ate it up.

Then came the deeper cut.

Professor Marcus Thorne, our old journalism mentor from Columbia, a man I respected, a man who had championed my early work, gave an interview.

He praised Jessica's "raw talent."

Then he talked about me.

"Sarah was once brilliant," he said, his face grave. "It's sad to see her decline, this apparent envy towards a younger, more gifted journalist."

Envy.

The word hit me hard.

My own mentor.

My isolation felt complete.

My editor, Mark, called me into his office.

His face was troubled.

"Sarah, people are talking. Thorne's words… they carry weight."

"He's wrong, Mark. She's stealing my work. Somehow."

He sighed. "How, Sarah? Are you saying she's a mind reader?"

The doubt in his eyes was clear.

My colleagues avoided my gaze in the hallways.

Whispers followed me. "Washed up." "Jealous."

The pressure was immense.

Jessica was the new darling. I was the bitter has-been.

But Thorne' s betrayal, that stung the most.

It made me more determined.

I had to find out how she was doing it.

This wasn't just about my career anymore.

This was about the truth.