Ava’s POV:
The message stays on my phone longer than it should.
I don’t move. I don’t breathe. I don’t even blink. The room feels too quiet, like it’s listening along with whoever sent it.
“It has begun.”
No name. No number. No explanation.
Just certainty.
I lock my phone and place it face down on the nightstand as if that will make it disappear. My hands are steady when I do it. That unsettles me more than panic would have. Panic is familiar. This is something colder. Something deliberate.
The Blackwell townhouse is asleep, but it never feels empty. The walls are thick, the floors polished to a shine that reflects light too easily. Every sound carries. Every silence feels intentional. I sit on the edge of the bed and listen anyway, counting seconds between distant movements. A door
