The next week was a blur. Police detectives, followed by waves of journalists, descended upon us. Our lives became a series of interviews in the principal's office, now with a very compliant and nervous Mr. Alvarez present.
We told our story, over and over. The edited version. We said we'd found the documents by accident during a history project, that we'd been threatened, that we'd gone to Ms. Liza for help. We never mentioned a ghost. We became "The BNHS Trio," teen sleuths who cracked a cold case. The narrative was clean, believable, and safe. It felt like a betrayal of Luna's memory, reducing her truth to a simple mystery, but it was the only way to survive the spotlight.