Melinda’s POV
The house sat at the end of a cul-de-sac in a neighborhood with three kinds of roses, a mailbox shaped like a lighthouse, and an HOA so polished it practically breathed.
It looked peaceful.
Safe.
But something about it felt… off.
Too still.
Too quiet.
I parked across the street and sat for a moment, hands gripping the wheel tighter than necessary. The sun was dipping, casting golden lines across the front walk.
I thought of River.
Of the way their eyes caught mine in the hallway.
Like we already knew each other in a way names couldn’t explain.
Then I stepped out of the car.
And walked toward the house.
The woman who answered the door looked like someone who’d planned her whole life around routines.
Hair in a low bun.
Sweater the color of cream.
Hands that fidg
