❝ You can only help someone who wants to be helped. ❞
Neveah Knight had commited suicide.
The reason why? Katherine Quentin had no clue. That is; until Killian Knight, Neveah's brother, and Neveah's best friends, enlists Katherine's help to find out...
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People always say-
Life is nothing but a game-
Those who conquer it win-
And those who don't will be gone forever-
But their stories?
Those will remain.
A drop of wetness landed on my cheek and my eyebrows pinched. Tilting my head upward, eyes squinting, a drop of rainwater landed on my forehead.
Crap. Papers. No umbrella. Walking.
Glancing anxiously down towards the stack of unprotected sheets Miss Rue entrusted to me, I cringed slightly when a drop of water got onto a part the front sheet, instantly damping it.
Cursing inwardly at how the papers were going to get ruined, my feet quickened their pace and I ignored my throbbing ankle, sprinting into a run.
The downpour got heavier and I hugged the stack of paper closer to my chest.
After what felt like miles of tracking through the rain, I finally managed to locate a sheltered bus stop. Collasping onto the seat and ignoring the stares of the woman seated beside me and her grimace when water dripped down onto the seat.
The buzz of my phone signalling a text surprised me. I hardly got any texts.
Pulling the phone out of my pocket, the screen lit up repeatedly, with the notification, 'Teresa: 1 new message". God, Teresa.
Teresa: KATHERINE. CHECK YOUR INSTAGRAM. NOW. HURRY. I NEED TO TALK ABOUT IT. WHT ARE YOU, DEAD? COME ALIVE FOR THIS PLEASE. OH I JUST REALISED I MADE A PUN. SHITTY TIMING THOUGH. NEVER MIND, YOU WON'T GET IT UNTIL YOU SEE IT.
Frowning slightly at the texts in all caps, I did as told. Scrolling down I stopped at a post, sucking in a breath. Holy cow.
