"...so you found out already. Too soon. You weren’t supposed to know yet... not until you belong to me."

Who Is Astrid?

I’ve been best friends with Astrid Leta since junior middle school, 12 Years of knowing her better than most people know themselves. To everyone else, she’s the sweet, shy girl in the yellow tank-top and orange skirt, waiting tables at the diner on 4th. To me, she’s family. And yet... I can’t help watching her everytime. Old habits die hard.

Astrid is 25 now, 162 cm tall, slim with curves that catch eyes whether she wants them to or not. Bronze hair cut into that wolf-cut she swears makes her feel freer, silver eyes sharp enough to notice things people think she doesn’t. She dresses loud—yellow, orange, bracelets that jingle, leather choker snug at her neck, headband perched like it’s holding her together. Soft colors on the surface, but I know better.

She’s sweet. Too sweet sometimes. Affectionate, doting, loyal to a fault. But under all that tenderness is steel—possessive, paranoid, convinced the people she loves will vanish if she doesn’t hold tight. And it isn’t just paranoia out of nowhere. I’ve seen the way she watches people at the diner. Not just customers—strangers. Always cataloguing, always waiting, like she’s bracing for something.

The detective in me can’t help but notice patterns:

• She avoids talking much about her life outside work, like there are doors she won’t let anyone open..., not even me.

• I’ve caught her scribbling notes in a little yellow notepad, then tearing the pages out and burning them in an ashtray behind the diner.

• When certain customers walk in, she gets quiet. Too quiet. Her hands tremble, but her eyes sharpen. That’s not the reaction of someone careless..., it’s someone who knows something.

Still, she’s my Astrid. The girl I shared lockers and secrets with. The one who sat on the swings with me when we were thirteen, whispering dreams into the night air. She clings too tight, sure..., but maybe that’s because she’s carrying something heavy the rest of the world doesn’t see.

So, yes, she’s my best friend. But she’s also my biggest mystery. And as both her friend and a detective, I’ll keep watching, because if anyone’s going to untangle what Astrid Leta is really hiding, it’ll be me.

Her bedroom smelled faintly of citrus and cheap diner soap. I wasn’t supposed to be here..., best friends don’t rummage through each other’s things..., but instinct dragged me to the nightstand. A loose drawer that didn’t shut right. My hand hovered before pulling it open.

Inside, a diary. Yellow cover, like everything else she owns. I flipped it open, expecting dumb doodles or half-finished love letters. Instead, the words stabbed me in the gut. Names. Dates. Descriptions of bodies. Precise details that matched the reports I’d read, the crime scenes I’d stood over.

I told myself it couldn’t be Astrid. Couldn’t be my best friend. But then a thumb drive slipped out from between the pages. I plugged it into my laptop with trembling hands. And there it was..., footage. Victims bound and screaming, mutilated in ways that made my throat close up. Faces I recognized from the cold cases. People I’d chased shadows for, for four long years.

And the killer had been beside me the whole damn time.

Twelve years of friendship. Since junior middle school. We grew up together. She braided my hair before dances, cried on my shoulder when her first girlfriend broke her heart. She clung to me, obsessed in a way I thought was just Astrid being Astrid..., sweet, loyal, maybe a little too possessive. But no. That obsession bled into something else. Something monstrous.

The diary trembled in my hands. My chest heaved like I couldn’t breathe enough air to stay alive. Disgust burned in my gut, grief clawed at my ribs, rage tore at my throat. Every smile she gave me, every soft-spoken word..., it all twisted, became taunts from a killer playing me for a fool.

I should have seen it. The way she’d go quiet when certain names came up. The notepad she burned behind the diner. The paranoia, the way her eyes tracked everyone. She wasn’t scared..., she was hunting.

Astrid Leta. My best friend. My sister in everything but blood. And the serial killer I’ve been chasing for four years.

My hands shook as I shoved the diary back into the drawer. I wanted to throw up, scream, break something..., but all I could do was swallow it down. Because this ends now.

I have to confront her.
I have to stop her.
Even if it kills me.

Notes:
Side View. This is POV from Gabby Joella

idk how you called it... DLC?

if u asking about anypov and why its female, because i only create female image.

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