“I’m worried,” Claudia Reece-Holland said, her voice low and serious as she tilted the coffee pot to pour a steaming cup of coffee.

Frances Cary let out a lazy yawn, reclining in her chair with her loose black hair falling over her face. She was still in her pajamas, unbothered by the late morning hour. They were sharing breakfast in their small apartment kitchen, but the atmosphere was anything but warm.

“You’re worried about Norma?” Frances finally responded, her tone dripping with indifference.

“Yes.” Claudia’s hand paused briefly as she stirred her coffee. “I think something’s not right.”

“Oh, stop worrying so much,” Frances said dismissively, taking a casual sip of her coffee. “She’ll call eventually, or she’ll come back on her own. There’s no need to make such a fuss.”

“But what if she doesn’t come back? She’s been missing for days. Don’t you think that’s strange?”

“Claudia, please!” Frances set her mug down on the table with an exaggerated clink and looked up at her. “She’s just a girl we share an apartment with—not our responsibility. Besides, she’s always been a little... off, hasn’t she? Disappearing for a few days isn’t exactly shocking.”

“You and I see this differently.” Claudia frowned. “Her father is my boss. If something’s happened to her, they’ll eventually ask why I didn’t report her disappearance.”

“Oh, what a bother!” Frances waved her hand dismissively, leaning back again. “Norma’s probably just caught up in something new—or with someone new. Maybe, say... David?” She smirked, her tone laced with sarcasm.

“You know I don’t like him,” Claudia said coolly. “And you also know he’s trouble. Honestly, Frances, I don’t understand why you still associate with him.”

“Oh, drop it!” Frances rolled her eyes. “He’s just a harmless artist who likes to play tricks now and then. You’re always so uptight.”

Claudia didn’t budge. “If Norma is with him, she should at least let us know. But David claims he doesn’t know where she is. What does that tell you?”

Frances shrugged and sank further into her chair. “What does it tell me? That she needs some space.”

Claudia stared at her, as though searching her expression for something unsaid. “You’re really not worried at all?”

Frances hesitated, her eyes flickering with a hint of doubt. “Fine. I’ll admit—I am a little worried. In fact, there’s something I’ve been debating whether to tell you.”

Claudia’s brow furrowed with concern. “What is it?”

“Well,” Frances began, her voice dropping, “there was this one time I went into Norma’s room. My bra strap had snapped, and I was in a rush, so I thought she might have a spare.”

“And?” Claudia’s voice grew taut with nervous anticipation.

“I found a knife,” Frances said slowly, almost reluctantly. “A switchblade.”

“A switchblade?” Claudia’s voice rose, almost shrill. “How do you know it was a switchblade?”

“Because I’ve seen one before,” Frances said evenly, meeting her gaze. “And there were dark stains on the blade—looked like dried blood.”

Claudia’s breath caught, leaving her momentarily speechless.

“You remember that fight in the courtyard, right?” Frances continued. “The papers said a boy was stabbed and then ran off. Could it be that Norma picked up the knife from the courtyard?”

“Did you ask her about it?” Claudia said, struggling to keep her voice steady.

“No,” Frances admitted. “I put the knife back where I found it. But later, when I checked again, it was gone. Claudia, do you think she called David here just to take the knife?”

Claudia didn’t answer. She just stared at Frances, her face pale and frozen.

“I don’t know,” Frances said, standing up and placing her coffee cup in the sink. “But if I were you, I’d make sure to start locking my door.”