My hand fumbled inside my purse as I searched for my pepper spray. The hallway inside Logan’s house was eerily silent.
The light at the end of the corridor flickered, making everything scarier than usual.
Brie was two steps ahead of me, her car keys trembling in her hand. Her face was twisted with concern.
"We're coming, Logan!" she screamed, rushing into the living room. "We’re here!"
I followed her in, my hand gripped tightly around the canister of pepper spray. I expected chaos. I expected blood on the floor or a struggle near the window.
Instead, I found Logan sitting on a white leather couch inside his living room.
He wasn't on the floor. He wasn't bleeding. He was calmly peeling an orange with a sharp kitchen knife.
The citrus scent was sharp and cloying in the small space
