Margaret’s death was officially logged as another unsolved killing in a forgettable roadside motel, but nothing about that room was ordinary. The untouched jewelry, the undisturbed wallet, and the absence of panic told a different story: this was not a crime of impulse, but of erasure. Someone needed her silenced more than they needed anything she owned. The real target, it seemed, had never been the woman but the history she carried.
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