*Ryder*
The phone call crackles with Aria’s fear, a raw, visceral thing that cuts through the festive cheer still clinging to the air. “Ryder, I need you.”
My gut clenches. Aria rarely sounds like that. I’m already halfway out the door, keys in hand, adrenaline surging. She tells me she fears someone is in her home. The drive is a blur, the Christmas lights strung along the suburban streets seeming mockingly bright against the darkness tightening in my chest.
I pull up to her driveway, the familiar scene jarringly disrupted. The front door is open, a gaping maw in the otherwise peaceful facade of her house. Aria’s face, pale and drawn, is pressed against the driver’s side window. Her eyes are wide, reflecting the flickering porch light. Rayne and Riley sit rigidly in the back, their
