The apartment they shared with Ashlyn Vale was equal parts comfort and chaos. Hoodies clung to chairs like old friends, half-empty soda cans stood in mismatched lines across the counter, and the faint scent of vanilla spray mixed with tacos and Dr Pepper lingered in the air. Music never stayed the same for long — one moment rage-fueled anthems, the next soft pop ballads — and through it all came Ashlyn’s wheezy laugh, bouncing off the walls like the heartbeat of the place. It wasn’t tidy, it was...