Agent Williams plugged the flash drive into his laptop. The room seemed to draw in on itself, as if the walls had leaned closer to listen. The only sound was the low hum of the machine and the faint rattle of Uncle Donovan pacing behind us like he was waiting for a bomb to go off. Zeke sat beside me on the couch, his arm around my shoulders, warm and solid. I barely felt it. My whole body had gone distant, like I was already bracing for something awful before it even had a name.
The screen flickered, then steadied on a single folder. CONFIDENTIAL DUNHILL. Agent Williams clicked it open. Names. Locations. Photos. Reports. Time-stamped logs. Some meant nothing to me. One folder did. A.D. PRIORITY. My pulse gave a hard, ugly kick. Maybe the initials were a coincidence, but deep down I knew that was wishful thinking. The A.D. had to be my father—Andy Dawson. Seeing his life reduced to a folder on a stranger's computer made something hot and helpless twist inside me.
"Why would Dunhill have a file on your dad?" Zeke asked, his voice low.
Agent Williams didn't answer. He clicked the folder. Audio files, photos, reports, logs—every one of them stamped with the same initials: S.D.
"Who the hell is S.D.?" Uncle Donovan asked. Agent Williams opened the first audio file. A woman's voice slipped into the room—soft, warm, familiar. My breath stopped. For one sick second, my mind refused to name it, as if I didn't think it, it couldn't become real. Then the truth slid into place like a knife. Sharon. My stepmother. The woman who had smiled at me across dinner tables. The woman who had hugged me.
"No way," Zeke breathed.
The recording was short.
Andy remains stable. He hasn't mentioned his missing ex-girlfriend or their unborn child in a while. I'll continue monitoring.
Silence settled over us. Thick. Airless. I could hear my own heartbeat in my ears, loud and uneven, as if my body was trying to outrun what my mind had just heard. Agent Williams opened the next file.
Andy mentioned the Catalano property again. I redirected his attention by asking if he wanted to try having a child together. He refused but doesn't suspect a thing.
"This is insane," Uncle Donovan said, but even his voice had gone thin. Agent Williams hesitated, then clicked the third recording.
Andy mentioned a dream about Amber holding their baby. I told him it was just a nightmare. She would have found him if she were still alive. He is easy to calm and manipulate.
Zeke's hand came off my shoulder. "She's been reporting on your dad?" I couldn't answer. My throat had sealed shut. All I could think about was every time Sharon had looked me in the eye and acted like I was safe with her. Agent Williams clicked the fourth file. It was dated the day after I first talked to Andy. Sharon's voice returned, colder now, stripped of all softness.
A young woman showed up today. She is claiming to be Andy's daughter. I'm looking into her background. I urged him to do the DNA test she suggested. I'll let you know soon.
Nausea turned in my stomach. Not the quick kind that passes—the deep, rolling kind that makes you feel like your whole body knows something terrible before your mind can catch up. Another file opened.
Her name is Roxanne. She matches the age Amber's child would be. She also has an uncanny resemblance to her. I'm certain this is the child.
Then another.
She moved into the Catalano property. It's her, I'm certain. We are getting closer to our goal. If anything happens, I'll report immediately. Andy is clueless.
"She knew before we did," Zeke said. His voice had gone flat. Agent Williams clicked one more. Sharon's calm was somehow worse than fury. Fury, I could understand. This was something colder, more deliberate. It slid over my skin and raised goose bumps.
She's his daughter. A descendant of Yurei's bloodline. She's showing signs, subtle but there. I'll keep her close. She trusts me. They all do. If she manifests fully, I'll notify you immediately.
Agent Williams hovered over the next recording and went still. "There's more," he said quietly. "But—" A violent thud slammed against the front porch. Tires shrieked somewhere out on the road, then vanished into the night.
Zeke shot to his feet. "What the hell was that?"
"Stay behind me," Agent Williams said, already moving.
"If it's another masked man, I'm retiring early," Donovan muttered.
Agent Williams crossed to the door with his gun raised, and Zeke moved with him. I stayed where I was, locked in place, my pulse pounding high in my throat. The door flew open. Ted lay in a heap on the porch like he'd been thrown there. Blood soaked his shirt and darkened the boards beneath him. His face was swollen and half ruined, and every breath tore out of him wet and ragged. For one dizzy second, I thought I might pass out. He didn't look human. He looked like what was left after violence had finished with him.
"No." The word tore out of me. I stumbled backward until my shoulder hit the wall.
"Holy shit, it's Ted," Zeke said, dropping to his knees beside him. "What the hell happened to you? Did you see who took you?"
"He's barely alive," Agent Williams said, dropping beside him and checking for a pulse. I couldn't make myself go closer. This was the man who had broken into my house, haunted my sleep, and tried to kill me. I had imagined his face a hundred times in the dark, always just beyond reach, always coming for me. And now he'd been dumped on my front porch like a warning, like someone wanted me to see exactly what happened to people who failed them.
"Jesus," Uncle Donovan muttered. "What did they do to him?"
Ted's eyes dragged open. He didn't look at Zeke, Uncle Donovan, or Agent Williams. He looked straight at me. I jerked back so hard my shoulder hit the wall. Fear hit fast and stupid, old and automatic. My body remembered him before my mind could tell it this version of him was dying.
Zeke saw me flinch. "Rocky, stay back. I've got him." Ted tried to raise one shaking hand toward me, but Zeke caught his wrist and lowered it. "Don't. Just don't."
"Donovan, call 911. Now," Agent Williams snapped. Donovan backed away, already pulling out his phone. Ted's lips moved. Blood bubbled at the corner of his mouth.
Agent Williams leaned closer. "Ted, don't talk. Breathe." Ted's hand twitched. A folded scrap of paper slipped from his fingers to the porch. Agent Williams picked it up. The writing was rushed, shaky, smeared with blood.
"They can." Just two words. Cut off as if he'd been stopped before he could finish.
"They can what?" Zeke snapped. "Find us? See her?"
Ted's eyes found mine again. Not hateful. Not wild. Terrified. That shook me more than anger would have. Monsters weren't supposed to look afraid. He dragged in a broken breath and forced out half a word.
"Sh-sh-sh—" he rasped. The sound hit me like ice water. My stomach dropped as the meaning snapped into place.
"Sharon," I whispered. Ted's eyes widened once—not with surprise, but relief. Then the light left them. Just like that. Cold spread through me in a slow, sick wave. Not grief. Not exactly. Something closer to dread opening its mouth inside me and swallowing everything else.
"He's gone," Agent Williams said, checking Ted's pulse, then shaking his head.
I pressed a hand to my mouth. "He tried to kill me," I said, shaking. "Why would he warn me?" Even as I asked it, I knew the answer was ugly. Whatever was coming for me was worse than Ted.
"Because he knew they were going to kill him anyway," Agent Williams said grimly. "And he wanted someone to understand the danger you're in. This is bigger than we realized."
Sirens rose in the distance, thin at first, then sharper. I stayed against the wall, unable to make myself step past Ted's body. The porch smelled like blood and damp wood, and the scent clung to the back of my throat. The ambulance tore into the driveway. The sheriff's cruiser came in right behind it.
"What the hell happened here?" Sheriff Dawson asked, stepping out, already scowling.
"Ted was dumped on my porch. He…" I said, wiping at my face.
"Of course," the sheriff said, cutting me off. "Trouble follows you like a damn shadow."
"Back off," Zeke growled, stepping forward with fury in his eyes.
"Or what? You gonna hit a sheriff?" he sneered at Zeke.
"Sheriff Dawson," Agent Williams said, stepping between them and flipping open his badge. "This scene falls under my jurisdiction."
"The hell it does. This is my county and my turf," the sheriff yelled, his face twisting with anger.
"This is connected to the Catalano murders," Agent Williams said sharply. "That makes it my case."
Sheriff Dawson went rigid, his jaw clenched hard enough to crack teeth, but he stepped back. The paramedics loaded Ted's body into the ambulance. The sheriff watched me the whole time, his stare black and burning. It still stunned me sometimes that he was my grandfather. There was nothing of family in the way he looked at me. No recognition. No softness. Just contempt so old and deep it felt inherited. Before I could look away, Andy and Sharon's car screeched to a stop in front of the house.
"Rocky! Zeke!" Andy shouted, jumping out in a panic. "What happened? Are you okay?" Sharon stepped out behind him, composed—too composed. Her gaze moved to the blood on the porch, then to me. Something cold flickered there, brief and sharp, before it vanished. If I hadn't just heard her voice on those recordings, I might have missed it. But now I saw too much. The mask. The calculation beneath it. Suddenly, being near her felt more dangerous than standing three feet from a corpse.
Agent Williams leaned toward Zeke. "Tell Donovan to hide the flash drive. Now." Zeke gave the smallest nod, crossed to Uncle Donovan, and murmured something too low for anyone else to hear. Donovan didn't answer. He just slipped past me and disappeared inside toward the hidden door in the office floor. Sharon watched him go. She was smiling, but there was nothing warm in it. Nothing human.
The ambulance pulled away with Ted's body, lights flashing but sirens silent now. Sheriff Dawson stood on the walkway with his arms crossed and his jaw locked tight, staring at the blood on the porch like it was a personal insult. He didn't look at anyone else. Just me. His stare was bad enough, but his next words hit harder.
"Well," Sheriff Dawson said coldly, "are you happy now? Someone's dead, and I'm pretty sure it's your damn fault."
My breath hitched. Tears spilled before I could stop them. I already carried guilt for everything that had happened, but hearing him put it into words made it feel suddenly permanent, like something sealing shut around me. Zeke stiffened beside me, ready to go for the sheriff, but Andy stepped in before either of them could explode. Zeke pulled me into his arms, grounding me, his voice low and fierce as he told me not to believe a word of it. But my gaze had already shifted past them. Sharon stood a few feet away, composed as ever, her expression soft, almost concerned. Anyone else would have believed it. Maybe I would have, too, if I hadn't heard those recordings. But now all I could see was the lie beneath the face she wore—and the sick certainty that she'd been closer to me than the danger ever was.