Daya nods her head, appearing a little exhausted from the thought. Can’t say I’m not either. “And we have nothing to go off of. There’s no mention of his last name. Barely any physical description.” “He had a scar on his hand,” I offer, recalling mentions of those things in Gigi's diary. “And wore a gold ring.” “Did she mention his social standing? Job? Anything that could lead us to who he might be?” I twist my lips, “I'll have to look again. I remember she said he was involved in something dangerous, but I haven't gotten the chance to read through everything yet.” She nods and heaves out a weighted sigh. “Until then, I think we’re going to be stuck until we find Ronaldo or that missing page.” I sigh, my shoulders drooping. “That could literally be anywhere, or it not even exist anymore.” Daya looks at me then, sympathy in her eyes. “We'll keep trying different avenues. I’m just as invested as you at this point.” I shoot her a grateful smile before looking back at the crime scene photos. This was undoubtedly a crime of passion, and if I know anything, stalkers tend to be deeply passionate about their obsessions. I bolt upright, a gasp lingering on the tip of my tongue. Sweat coats my skin, and my hair is plastered to my cheeks, neck, and down my back.