Four o'clock passed without us stepping into the dean's office.
Fifteen minutes past three found us walking into the police station. The building stood quiet, just a few officers inside when we arrived.
Fingers gripping the wheel, Daniel kept his eyes forward. My palms damp beside me, the phone glowed with messages - Patricia's words stacked tight like evidence no one asked for. Proof lived there now, sharp and silent, beyond what I could say out loud.
"What if they don't believe us?" I asked.
"They will." Daniel's knuckles were white on the steering wheel. "We have the texts. We have her history of stalking. We have your previous report with Detective Chen."
"What if she sends the videos before we can stop her?"
"Then she sends them. But at least she'll be in jail."
It meant little, really, just before everything fell apart. A brief pause in the wreckage.
