The Last Case (2)

I reach for the doorknob of Sister Agnes's room, my heart pounding in my chest. As I push the door open, the scene that greets me is far from what I expected.

Sister Agnes stands in the center of the room, her frail figure silhouetted against the morning light streaming through the window. Before her, on a small table, sits a towering stack of documents - folders, loose papers, what looks like old journals. The sheer volume is staggering.

But it's Sister Agnes's face that truly catches my attention. Tears stream down her wrinkled cheeks, her eyes wide with a mixture of fear and desperation. Her lips tremble as she whispers, barely audible, "Help me."

That's when I notice her raised hand, fingers trembling as they clutch a single match. The realization of what's about to happen hits me like a physical blow.