The name on the cover
Kevin lifted the notebook gently, brushing away grime. Across the faded cover, black ink scrawled a single word: Willem. The letters were rough but clear.
Kevin froze, whispering, “That’s you, isn’t it?” He pictured the gaunt man from the footage, the face burned into memory. Suddenly, everything connected—the station, the bedding, the fear. This was Willem’s story, hidden for decades.
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