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?