Headlights rolled up the drive slowly. The beam swept across the windows before shutting off. I waited, staring through the glass. No screeching tires. No slamming brakes.
It wasn't Shade. He never drove like that when he was angry. Cylan. It had to be Cylan.
He stepped up onto the porch quietly.
I didn't move. The files still covered the floor. Brooke's photo stayed near the top, her fake-perfect smile framed by those black circles. Shade's signature clear under it.
Another knock. Whoever stood there wasn't in a hurry. They knew I was inside. They were just waiting. That kind of calm made my stomach twist tighter.
I didn't want calm. I wanted someone to scream so I could scream back.
I moved across the room, undid the lock, and opened the door just enough to see who stood on the
