Tessa\u2019s gaze snapped to me. \u201cYour sister isn\u2019t just\u2026 greedy. She\u2019s careful. She kept asking about timelines. What happens if the owners die. How fast probate moves. She wasn\u2019t mourning. She was scheduling.\u201d<\/p>\n
My stomach rolled. In my mind I saw Kara\u2019s indoor sunglasses. Her questions. Practical, practical, practical.<\/p>\n
Tessa slid out of the booth. \u201cI have to go. My boss thinks I\u2019m meeting a friend.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWait,\u201d I blurted. \u201cWhy did you text me anonymously?\u201d<\/p>\n
She hesitated. \u201cBecause Owen saw me print the forms. He didn\u2019t say anything, but he watched. And the next day, a man I\u2019ve never seen before was standing by my car at work. Just\u2026 standing there, smiling like we had a secret.\u201d<\/p>\n
A chill ran up my spine.<\/p>\n
She left fast, her shoes squeaking on the diner floor. The bell over the door jingled as she disappeared into the rain.<\/p>\n
Miles and I sat there staring at the envelope like it was radioactive.<\/p>\n
Then my phone buzzed again.<\/p>\n
Another unknown number. This time it wasn\u2019t a text.<\/p>\n
It was a voicemail.<\/p>\n
I hit play and held the phone to my ear, the diner noise falling away.<\/p>\n
A man\u2019s voice, low and amused, said, \u201cYou\u2019re pulling threads that don\u2019t belong to you. Stop, or your parents will finish what Kara started.\u201d<\/p>\n
My blood turned to ice, and I looked at Miles with my mouth open, unable to breathe.<\/p>\n
Because whoever it was didn\u2019t sound like Owen.<\/p>\n
So who else had been inside my family\u2019s life this whole time?<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Part 8<\/h3>\n
We didn\u2019t go straight home after the diner.<\/p>\n
Miles drove like he was trying to outrun something, windshield wipers thumping a steady, angry rhythm. The city lights smeared across the wet road. My palms were damp, my phone heavy in my lap like it had gained weight from that voice.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou saved the voicemail?\u201d Miles asked, eyes fixed forward.<\/p>\n
\u201cYeah,\u201d I whispered. \u201cI saved it.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cGood.\u201d His knuckles were white on the steering wheel. \u201cWe\u2019re going to the detective. Now.\u201d<\/p>\n
The police station smelled like old paper and floor cleaner. The fluorescent lights buzzed softly overhead, like even the building was tired. The detective\u2014Hollis\u2014listened to the voicemail twice, his face flat.<\/p>\n
\u201cDo you recognize the voice?\u201d he asked.<\/p>\n
I shook my head. My throat felt scraped raw. \u201cNot Owen. Not anyone I know.\u201d<\/p>\n
Hollis nodded, like that was both good and bad news. \u201cWe\u2019ll run it. See if we can match it to anything. But burner numbers and voice distortion are common.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cIt didn\u2019t sound distorted,\u201d I said. \u201cIt sounded\u2026 close. Like he was smiling into the phone.\u201d<\/p>\n
Hollis slid the envelope from Tessa across his desk and flipped through the photocopies. His eyes paused on the notary stamp.<\/p>\n
\u201cThis is helpful,\u201d he said. \u201cIt shows intent beyond what we already have.\u201d<\/p>\n
Miles leaned forward. \u201cWhat about the threat? Can you protect them?\u201d<\/p>\n
Hollis exhaled. \u201cWe can increase patrols near their new place. We can file for a protective order. But I\u2019ll be honest\u2014if this is someone outside Kara and Owen, someone connected, we need more than a voicemail to put cuffs on them.\u201d<\/p>\n
I hated how calm he was. I hated that he was right.<\/p>\n
That night we slept at my parents\u2019 new apartment.<\/p>\n
Their place was smaller, quieter, too modern for them\u2014white walls, clean lines, no history. My mom had tried to soften it with a throw blanket that smelled like fabric softener and lavender. My dad had already installed two carbon monoxide detectors, one in the hallway and one near the bedrooms, and he\u2019d tested them in front of me like he needed me to witness it.<\/p>\n
\u201cSee?\u201d he said, pressing the button until it beeped sharp and loud. \u201cWorking.\u201d<\/p>\n
I nodded, throat tight. \u201cGood.\u201d<\/p>\n
My mom watched us from the couch, her hands wrapped around a mug she hadn\u2019t been drinking from. Her eyes kept drifting toward the door like she expected someone to knock.<\/p>\n
In the middle of the night, I woke to a sound that didn\u2019t belong.<\/p>\n
A faint scrape. Like something sliding over concrete.<\/p>\n
My heart launched into my throat. I held my breath and listened.<\/p>\n
Another scrape.<\/p>\n
Miles was already awake beside me, his hand lifting slightly in the dark, signaling me to stay still. The room smelled like warm laundry and fear.<\/p>\n
He crept to the living room window and peered through the blinds. The streetlight outside cast pale stripes onto the floor.<\/p>\n
I followed, my bare feet cold on the tile.<\/p>\n
Outside, near my parents\u2019 car, a figure moved quickly\u2014hood up, shoulders hunched. They weren\u2019t trying to break in. They weren\u2019t trying to steal the car.<\/p>\n
They were leaving something on the hood.<\/p>\n
Then they turned and walked away, disappearing into the dim between streetlights.<\/p>\n
Miles yanked the door open and ran out in socks, but by the time he reached the parking lot, the figure was gone. Only the wet night remained, smelling of rain and asphalt.<\/p>\n
I stepped outside and felt the cold bite my skin.<\/p>\n
On the car hood sat a small cardboard box.<\/p>\n
No label. No return address.<\/p>\n
Just my dad\u2019s name written in block letters.<\/p>\n
My hands trembled as I lifted the lid.<\/p>\n
Inside was a brand-new carbon monoxide detector.<\/p>\n
No batteries.<\/p>\n
And on top of it, a sticky note with a single line:<\/p>\n
Safety is fragile.<\/p>\n
My mom made a small sound behind me, like a sob swallowed too fast.<\/p>\n
Miles took the box from my hands and stared at the empty battery compartment, his jaw working like he was chewing rage.<\/p>\n
\u201cThis is intimidation,\u201d he said, voice low.<\/p>\n
My dad stepped forward, his face hard in a way I\u2019d never seen. \u201cThis is a message.\u201d<\/p>\n
I stared into the box until my vision blurred.<\/p>\n
Because whoever had left it didn\u2019t just want to scare us.<\/p>\n
They wanted us to remember exactly how my parents almost died\u2014over something as small as two missing batteries.<\/p>\n
And now they knew where my parents slept.<\/p>\n
So how many steps away were we from it happening again?<\/p>\n
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