The key scraped the lock. Ethan stepped into a quiet that had edges.
“Amelia?" he called, out of habit more than hope.
The house answered with refrigerator hum and the pale rectangles where photos used to hang. The unicorn blanket was gone. Dust showed where a scooter's wheel had slept.
He called her phone. Voicemail. He tried again. Voicemail.
“I know," he said into the tone. “I saw the video. I was wrong. Please—call me."
The doorbell. Marco, damp jacket, three phones. “You texted."
“I need to know where Amelia laid Emma to rest," Ethan said. “Tonight."
Marco nodded once. “Hospitals first. Then funeral homes." He pressed fingers to his earpiece. “Team One, canvas every hospital in the metro. Team Two, suburbs. Team Three, mortuaries and funeral homes. Go."
Ethan paced while updat
