▶ Synopsis
Fleeing the courthouse, Clara Jennings races through the city, consumed by fear and the gnawing sense that everyone sees her as guilty. A call from an unknown man jolts her with a terrifying truth: she isn’t crazy—she was the witness, but someone has rewritten her role as the killer. He warns her to meet him at midnight and to trust no one.
As officers close in, Clara hides in a café restroom, questioning her sanity while the world tightens its grip. But when she looks into the mirror, she finds a chilling message scrawled across the glass—one that confirms her worst fears: “TRUST NO ONE.”
The courthouse doors burst open behind her as Clara stumbled down the marble steps, breath ragged, heart hammering. Shouts echoed—“Stop her!”—but she didn’t look back. She plunged into the stream of pedestrians, weaving through suits and briefcases, ignoring their startled glances.
Her reflection in the glass façade of a bank caught her eye. Her face looked wild—hair loose, eyes wide, clothes wrinkled. She looks guilty, a poisonous voice whispered in her mind. You look guilty.
The crosswalk light turned red, but she darted into the street anyway, horns blaring, tires screeching. She didn’t stop until she ducked into an alley, pressing herself against the damp brick, lungs burning.
Her phone buzzed. Unknown number. Against her better judgment, she answered.
“Clara Jennings?” A male voice, smooth, unhurried.
She froze. “Who is this?”
“You don’t know me. But I know you. And I know what they’re doing.”
Her blood turned to ice. “What—what do you mean?”
A pause. Then: “You’re not crazy. You were the witness. They’ve made you the defendant. And if you don’t want to disappear like the others, you need to listen.”
Static crackled, the line distorting. “Meet me tonight. Midnight. Battery Park. Don’t tell anyone. Don’t bring your phone.”
Click.
The call ended.
Clara stared at the screen, hands shaking. She almost laughed—it was too absurd, too much like something from the crime novels she read on sleepless nights. But her gut told her it was real. Too real.
The sound of heavy boots echoed from the alley mouth. Two officers appeared, scanning, radios buzzing.
She bolted again.
Her legs carried her through the maze of side streets until she burst into the back entrance of a café. The barista shouted, but she ignored him, slipping through to the women’s restroom. She locked herself in a stall and collapsed onto the toilet seat, head in her hands.
What was happening? Was she insane? The articles, the files, Anna’s voice trembling with pity… and now a stranger feeding her paranoia.
She splashed water on her face, staring into the mirror. Her own eyes looked foreign, haunted.
Then she noticed the message.
Three words, written in black marker across the bottom corner of the mirror, nearly smudged away:
“TRUST NO ONE.”