“It sounds like you chose wisely.”
She smiled. “I think so.” She paused. “Anything else?”
He shook his head. “No, not now.”
“Then let’s go.”
Amayah slung her camera bag over her shoulder and walked toward the porch, boots crunching on the icy snow. Her fingers brushed the rusted doorknob—original, antique, and still cold with history. She imagined the Carroway family bustlingthrough this doorway decades ago, long before tragedy had emptied the house and left it abandoned.
“This place is incredible,” she murmured.
Behind her, Luke took in the towering facade with something that looked like awe. “You sure it’s safe? That the porch won’t crumble beneath you?”
“As safe as any ninety-year-old house with questionable plumbing and possibly a raccoon landlord,” she said with a half laugh.
His answering grin warmed something in her chest she tried to ignore.
She stepped onto the porch, the place where she’d been given permission to record.
She’d filmed in front of dozens of rundown houses over the years, but this one . . . this one felt like a relic, a forgotten door in a forgotten chapter.
As she unpacked her tripod, her phone buzzed.
A text from her real estate agent.
CALL ME ASAP. NEED ANSWERS. TODAY.
Her stomach squeezed.
Then another text popped up immediately.
Inspection report NOT good. Need decisions before 5.
Before she could type a reply, a third message appeared.
If you want to move forward, I need confirmation—NOW.
Amayah exhaled slowly, the cold air catching in her throat.
The timing on this was terrible. She couldn’t deal with it now.
But did she have any other choice?
CHAPTER 17
Amayah glanced at Luke.He stood near a turret studying it. But his attention shifted toward her the exact moment she looked up.
His eyes sharpened—not invasive, just . . . curious.
Concerned.
Too observant for comfort.
She could tell him about her secret.
He seemed trustworthy.
Steady.
