Someone visiting. Someone lost. Maple Street wasn’t exactly dangerous—just a stretch of modest houses and crackedsidewalks and the quiet routines of people who liked their lives predictable.
Grace resumed walking, forcing her pace to stay even. She did not look at the car again.
Her house came into view, white siding and the crooked porch railing. The sight of it usually settled her. Today, the relief was thin.
Grace unlocked her door quickly and stepped inside, shutting it with more force than she meant to. She slid the deadbolt into place and stood there for a beat, palm pressed flat against the wood.
She exhaled, shaky, and told herself—again—that she was being ridiculous.
“Eli?” she called.
“Kitchen,” her brother’s voice answered.
Grace rounded the corner and found him leaning against the counter, phone in hand, one eye still faintly bruised but less dramatic than when he’d first arrived. He was wearing one of her hoodies, sleeves pushed up, looking almost—almost—like the version of him who used to steal her cereal and complain about homework.
“You’re supposed to be resting,” she said.
“I am,” he replied. “I’m resting vertically.”
She hesitated, then said, carefully, “There’s a car parked outside. Dark sedan. It wasn’t there this morning.”
Eli’s expression didn’t change.
“Lots of cars park on Maple,” he said easily.
“Eli.”
He met her gaze then, something flickering in his eyes before he smoothed it away. “Grace. I’m sure it’s nothing to worry about.”
She studied him—the way his shoulders were just a little too squared, the way his phone never left his hand.
“You sure you’re okay?” she asked quietly.
“I promise,” he said.
She nodded, even though the unease didn’t fade. Even when she looked out the front window.
The sedan was gone.
That should have made her feel better.
It didn’t.
Grace wrapped her arms around herself, telling herself she was safe. That this was her home. That nothing bad ever happened on quiet streets in small towns.
Still, she checked the front door lock again.
Just to be sure.
CHAPTER 12
Grace
Grace woketo the sound of glass breaking.
For half a second, her brain refused to make sense of it. She lay there, blinking up at the ceiling, disoriented by the pale gray light seeping through the curtains and the quiet weight of morning. Then her brain processed what had woken her.
Her stomach dropped.
