He’s always promised me the house was safe, untouchable, like no one could ever break through these walls. But he never told me what to do if someone did. He never gave me a plan. Because he never expected to leave me alone to deal with it.
And now—God—maybe he’s not just gone. Maybe he’s dead.
I stagger into the en-suite, slam the door shut, and lock it with trembling hands. My back presses against the wood, my breath astuttered gasp. Silence stretches thin, brittle. My pulse is too loud, crashing in my ears.
Then—screams.
Not Jacob.
Other voices. High. Terrified.
Female.
Constance? Adelaide?
No. No, they’re safe at home.
My legs shake, and I slide down the door, palms pressed over my mouth to smother the sobs. The screams keep coming, clawing at the walls, closer, closer—until the sound turns jagged and raw and the house doesn’t feel like a house anymore.
It feels like a slaughterhouse, and I’m the next animal in line.
I press my ear to the door, straining so hard the wood digs into my skin.
Nothing.
The screams have stopped. The silence is worse—thick, suffocating. Like someone waiting. I force myself to my feet, legs trembling, and creep toward the window. Every board of the floor groans like it’s betraying me. My hands shake as I peel back the curtain just enough to peek outside.
A cop car. But it’s not Jacobs.
I scan the road again, breath fogging the glass. That’s when I see it.
A black SUV. Its windows are tinted, the kind of dark that swallows light. My heart lurches. Detectives. Maybe it’s them. Maybe Maddox or Navarro came back to check on me. Maybe Jacob sent them. The hope is weak, but it’s enough to keep me standing.
Then a phone rings. It shrieks through the house, loud and violent, so out of place it makes me jump. The sound drills into my skull, bouncing off the walls, echoing in every corner.
Ring. Ring. Ring.
I freeze, staring at the shadow of the handset in the hall below, just visible through the crack in the bedroom door. Should I make a run and grab the device and beg whoever’s on the other end for help?
The ringing claws through me, dragging me toward it, but my feet won’t move.
And then—silence.
A breathless second of relief.
Until a new sound slips through the line, low and jagged, amplified by the stillness of the house.
A voice.
“Hello, Sheriff.”
Deep. Male. Drawn-out like he knows exactly how those two words will land.
The air leaves my lungs all at once. A warmth spreads down my thighs before I even realize what’s happened. My body’s given up on me, humiliating me as if to remind me I’m prey. Just prey.
The sound of a cell being tossed to the floor rattles through my bones, but the voice doesn’t vanish. I hear it again.
Low. Groaning. Coming from the hall.
