Tyler
I was off the sofa before she finished saying my name.
She was standing in the hallway with her phone in both hands and her face had gone the kind of still that meant she was holding something together very carefully.
I took the phone from her.
Watched the video.
Twelve seconds. Her bedroom. The desk. The coat on the chair. Potato's pen. And then the bed — the pillow, the indent where she'd been lying — and then it cut.
I watched it again.
The angle was low. Whoever held the camera was crouching or short. The movement was slow. Deliberate. Like they wanted her to see every detail.
Like they wanted her to count all the things they'd touched.
"Stay here," I said.
"Tyler—"
"Right here. Don't move."
I went through the flat room by room. Bedroom first. Checked the wardrobe, un
