Seventeen shots. Then three.
And then… nothing.
By dawn, the streets of Crete were no longer quiet.
Sirens wailed. Red and blue lights painted the houses in flashes of chaos. Neighbors whispered behind closed doors, trying to make sense of what had happened.
Jenna was already gone.
She drove across state lines into Indiana, the road stretching endlessly ahead of her. The sun began to rise, casting light on a world that no longer felt the same.
When the police finally found her, she didn’t resist.
“I did it,” she said simply.
No tears. No shaking hands. Just a calm, unsettling stillness.
“Why?” one officer asked.
She looked past him, as if searching for something that wasn’t there anymore.
“They pushed too far,” she replied. “All of them.”
But as the investigation unfolded, one question lingered in every report, every whispered conversation:
What truly happened in those eight silent minutes… before the first shot?
And was it anger—
Or something far darker?
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