THE ESSENTIAL THING TO DO AFTER A CRIME SCENE was to revisit each detail and write it down so it wouldn't be tampered with by one's own brain.

That was the first thing Robin did the moment the paramedics arrived. She rushed to the counter and took out Christina's notebook that she kept around for recipes and grocery lists. She picked the pen stuck between the pages and opened a fresh page, scribbling hurriedly until she felt her wrists go numb.

Memory could easily be fabricated, details could vanish and be replaced by foreign ones we convince ourselves did happen - but it could be a lie.

"Will you be able to specify why Christina Clark was in apartment 1507 and not yours?"

There was nothing Robin hated more than meaningless conversation, and to her luck, the officer sitting before her wasn't a fan of it either. Detective Evelyn Crane, as Robin read from the name tag because she couldn't for the life of her remember it when she introduced herself, had reassured her that she could take all the time she needed to talk. Robin had wanted to get the entire process over with, choosing to postpone processing emotions for a later time - a much, much later time.

Crane had started with easy questions, some that Robin had rushed through to get to the darker side of the interrogation. Could it be considered cold to be able to talk about death so objectively? She didn't know, but it was working for her, and it was the only way she knew how to cope - to block it all out, block Violet's cold dead body lying on the carpet, her blood warm and thick, her skin pale, her eyes distant and... dead.

Violet was dead.

Robin slouched on the uncomfortable chair. It was made of leather, but the cushion was rough. Her muscles were cramping up and her back was starting to hurt. The tightness of the private room was suffocating her more and more by the second.

"It's not odd. She might have been with Spencer so she wouldn't stay alone."

"You usually spend most of your time together?"

"You mean all four of us? Yeah, usually. Violet and I would study at the library some nights but make sure to come back before curfew." Her name rolled out of her tongue smoothly, and only the afterthought of it brought a twinge of pain to her gut. This name belonged to someone who wasn't there anymore.

"Where were you tonight before curfew?"

"I went for a run. I sometimes go for runs at night. Fewer people."

"Do you usually come back on curfew?"

"No. It depends on my mood really. I didn't pay attention to the time until I noticed Christina was texting me to get back."

"When did she start texting you?"

"Probably... fifteen minutes before ten? Could be even before that. She has my live location just in case."

She watched as the officer scribbled down notes, and she wondered just how long it will take for her to finish the interrogation. She wanted to go home-

Violet's dead body lying on the floor, drowning in her own blood.

She blinked, inhaling a harsh breath through her nose and straightening in her seat.

"Do you have her live location as well?"

"Yeah, she sends it to me just in case."

"Does it mean you have Violet's live location?" The officer's frown deepened and Robin's heart lurched.

"I don't. Christina could." She hoped she did.

She nodded, and the sound of pen slashing against paper resounded against the walls.

"When was the last time you talked to Violet?"

"Um. Yesterday. I haven't seen her today. I don't think."

"How so?"

Robin shrugged. "I don't see her every day. We're not really close. We hang out when we need to study together."

"Robin, will you be able to explain why Violet was found in your apartment?"

Robin swallowed, her eyes unbelievably wide as she stared into the table separating her from Crane. It took a while before she realized she hadn't answered. Because that question had so many implications, so many unanswered questions, so many theories. Her eyes stung and she blinked, shaking her head.

"No."

Crane nodded, picking up the crumbled piece of paper with her messy handwriting scribbled on top. Just the sight of it was able to make her gut churn. She almost forgot she wrote it.

"You mentioned here Finn at the beginning. Finn is the one who called 911?"

"Yes."

"When you went on the roof he stayed on the floor, is that correct?"

"Yes. He... he got into his place before we got to the roof."

"How do you know him?"

"How do I know who?"

"Finn."

Robin frowned. "He's friends with Spencer. I don't know much about him except he lives next door."

"You've been a tenant in Bridgeham Building for a while, correct? How long?"

"Uhm... could be seven years."

"And Finn?"

Robin exhaled a long, heavy sigh. She shook her head, rubbing her eye with her index finger and shrugging, shaking her head again. "I don't know."

"Even if you tried to remember?"

Robin tried not to get annoyed. But she was exhausted, and her energy had dropped to the lowest level possible, her body feeling heavy, her heart rate slowing.

She swallowed, willing her eyes to stay open. "Um. I remember Spencer said he moved in after he graduated. He's a year older than me. Could be five, four years ago."

"Alright." She picked up the piece of paper again. "Robin, you wrote that at 10:30 you went back down. You checked the time or is that an approximation?"

"Yes, I checked my phone before we took the elevator down."

"And it's accurate?"

"I don't remember now..." She frowned. The image had disappeared completely from her memory. "If I wrote it down then it has to be. I wrote everything I'm sure of."

"Mm. You see, the 911 call was made at 10:40. If you took the elevator at 10:30, you should have arrived in two minutes, correct? Five maximum. If, as you mentioned, Finn instantly called 911 when you discovered the body, that-"

"Wait, um..." Robin leaned forward, rubbing her temple. "It took some time for the elevator to come back. It wasn't on our floor."

"It wasn't on the fifteenth?"

"No." Robin huffed as she struggled to remember the number. "I don't know. I should've written it down. It was definitely one number, though. Could be third floor? I'm not sure. Christina might know, she was complaining about how long it took... I forgot to write it down." She anxiously chewed her bottom lip, willing the image to surface back in her memory. This could mean someone used the elevator right after Spencer did. This could mean someone made their escape using the elevator right as Spencer was at her lowest point. Her gut dropped. "Shit, I should've written it down."

"It's alright, this is valuable information, Robin," Crane reassured. "That's enough for tonight. Do you have anything else you'd like to add before you go?" Robin shook her head, already pushing her chair back. "Alright. Thank you for your cooperation."

She showed her the way out, and she was met with Christina and Finn, who'd been waiting for her to finish.

"Where's Spencer?"

Christina's eyes were wide, the hazel in them creating a sharp contrast against the red rims surrounding them, and the mascara smudged across her lower lashes. She stood the moment she heard her voice, rushing to round her arms around her in a tight grip. Robin caught her instantly, teeth clenched as she struggled to not lose the last sliver of control. The harder Christina clutched to her, the more her resolve wavered.

"She almost collapsed. They sent her home," Christina said as she pulled back, wiping her nose with the back of her sleeves.

"She's back at the apartment?" Robin frowned.

"No. She's staying with her brother."

Just then Crane emerged from the room, calling Finn's name and inviting him inside her office. Christina was quick to react when he bypassed them.

"We'll wait for you-" she was quick to say, almost desperate for the reassurance that they wouldn't be on their own on the way back- "if that's okay."

Finn halted in his steps, almost not expecting it. But just as quickly, he nodded. "Of course."

Right as he disappeared, Christina mumbled under her breath, "I don't even want to go home."

The thought brought a wave of nausea back to Robin's body. "I don't think we even can. It's a crime scene now."