Beatrice.
I couldn't stop staring at my phone.
The threatening text sat there like a living thing, pulsing with menace every time the screen brightened.
Hello Scarlett. Or should I say... Beatrice. Keep playing dead, or you're going to wind up dead for real.
My hands wouldn't stop shaking. The half-eaten birthday cake on the counter—the one Gerald and I had laughed over just an hour ago—now looked obscene. Frivolous. A child's fantasy of safety in a world that had never stopped hunting me.
"Beatrice." Gerald's voice cut through my spiral. "I need you to breathe."
I realized I'd been holding my breath. I gasped, sucking in air that felt too thin.
"Someone knows," I whispered. "Someone knows everything."
Gerald stood at the window, his posture rigid in that particular way that meant
