By late afternoon, the bracelet from the box felt like a stone in my pocket. I’d kept it there all day, not because I didn’t trust the house to be safe, but because I didn’t trust myself to leave it lying around where Noah might notice. Every time my fingers brushed the cool metal, I pictured my mother’s eyes in that Polaroid wide, pleading, and alive.
I was in the kitchen rinsing mugs when my phone buzzed. It was an Unknown Number.
The same one that had sent me those threats before. My breath hitched, and I set the mug down too fast, the ceramic clinking hard against the counter. I swiped the screen.
One new message:
If you want to see her alive, be at the train station locker 312 by 7 PM and come alone.
My first thought wasn’t even fear, it was disbelief, someone was dangling my mot
