The decision was made. Miles would embark on a quest for the truth, even if it meant stirring up old pains and reopening barely healed wounds. He frantically dug through the archives, gathering everything he could find about Emily's case: yellowing newspaper articles, sketchy police reports, equivocal testimony.
Each clue was a piece of the puzzle, each testimony a possible key. Miles felt like a detective in an old film noir, tracking down the shadows of the past to unravel the threads of truth. And as he moved forward, he felt the weight of guilt gradually lighten, replaced by a fierce determination to discover the truth, whatever it might be.
Miles delved into the details with an intensity that bordered on obsession. He re-read the press articles, noting every little detail that may have been overlooked by investigators at the time. He scrutinized police reports, looking for inconsistencies, gaps in the official investigation. And he questioned witnesses, even those whose memories seemed vague or uncertain.
Sometimes he felt like he was standing still, going around in circles in a labyrinth with no way out. But every time he was about to give up, something new would emerge, an unexpected lead, a hitherto overlooked clue. And that pushed him to keep going, to dig even deeper.
The nights were short, the days endless. But Miles was determined to see this through, to finally discover the truth about what had happened to Rosalie. Sometimes he wondered if he wasn't going crazy, losing himself in an impossible quest. But he pushed those thoughts out of his mind, focusing only on his end goal.
Because deep down, he knew that even though the truth could be painful, it was essential. He had to know what happened to Rosalie, he had to find justice for her and for himself. And nothing and no one could stop him in his quest, not even the demons of his past.