The house was silent when it happened.
That kind of silence that doesn’t feel peaceful — it feels heavy, waiting.
It was late, the kind of late where the city outside had gone still, and the only sounds were the low hum of the heating vents and the ticking of the grandfather clock in the hall. I was curled on the edge of the bed, phone in hand, whispering because even air felt dangerous.
My fingers trembled as I pressed the phone tighter to my ear.
“Please,” I breathed, voice cracking. “You don’t have to do this, Andrew. I’m trying— I really am—”
His voice on the other end was venom. “Trying isn’t enough, Malia. You’ve had weeks. If you don’t send me what I asked for by tomorrow night, Ivy’s gone. I mean it.”
Tears burned behind my eyes. “She’s just a girl,” I pleaded. “Don’t drag he
