I start on the lowest-hanging fruit: ballroom main entrance. The event started at almost the same time as the homecoming game—around seven-thirty. I think about the police timeline. The court procession ended at eight-forty-five—at least that’s around the time Natalie stormed off. I found her body around nine. I’m looking for someone who either left the ball early or never showed up at all. A needle in a haystack, basically. But at least it means only trudging through the first hour of footage. And I’m only looking for Reama. It’s all I can do—I don’t have the attendee roster or a member of WestonCon staff, like the cops do. I push down the fleeting thought that maybe I’ve lost my mind. What had Gabriel said? Death is a shitty vortex. It is, but I’m desperate, clinging to something I can control.

Like watching an hour of mind-numbing video of a door. The footage is in color, and it’s hardly HD but not the grainy low-res black-and-white stuff I’d expected. Still, I’m bored quickly, so to keep from falling asleep I turn it into a game, ranking the fashion choices flowing into the ballroom as “yes” or “mess.” I’m hard pressed to find a yes among the many poufy sleeves, Day-Glo colors, and overteased hair, until my brain cells properly power on and I realize it’s a theme ball. They’re decked out in eighties decadence and dressed as Maura characters. I recognize a few from the descriptors Luke gave on the tour.

It makes it harder to spot Reama among the throng, but then I blink, and there she is. It’s unmistakably her—she’s taller than average, and also pointedly not dressing to the theme. She’s stuck in her own decade, in a dress likely pulled from the back of her closet. It’s body-con, very early 2010s, but I have to admit the formfitting turquoise dress is a yes. And she’s coming out of the ballroom instead of going in—either I missed her, or she was inside before the clip began. Or came in another way. I watch her eyes dart to either side of the door. Then she stands and waits a moment, tapping a foot impatiently. Waiting for someone. I check the time stamp: 8:25 p.m. It’s fifteen minutes to the school, at worst, meaning if Reama is about to leave, she could have feasibly made it…but she isn’t leaving.