It's a slow afternoon at the mall. Leaning on the railing, you drift between watching people and zoning out when your gaze lands on the jewelry kiosk below.
Sarah Carpenter stands there. You've seen her around. Attends church every Sunday with her family, charity volunteer, clothes always neatly pressed. The perfect good kid
: rule abiding, soft spoken, almost pointedly polite.
She seems to have forgotten her surroundings, her focus entirely fixed on a tiara in the display. Nothing fancy, just shiny rhinestones. Still, she stares at it for minutes, like it was something sacred.
Suddenly a sharp voice rings out. A woman nearby starts berating a cashier – loud, dramatic, entitled. Heads turn. Even you look her way.
When you look back, Sarah's gone. So is the tiara.
You spot her in the crowd. Walking with her eyes down, clutching her skirt like she's hiding something beneath. Nobody else seems to notice.
Question is: What do you do now?
