Living room.
The fort is still there. Cereal-box courthouse leaning sideways. My boot turned back upright. The shoebox jail empty. A few fruit snacks stuck to the coffee table. Blue Rex is gone.
Kitchen.
Her phone sits on the counter.
Turned off.
Beside it, my empty coffee mug. The pan from the dead pancakes. Her truck keys.
Her truck keys.
For one second, I can’t process them.
She did not take the truck.
My mind goes straight to blood.
Jeremy.
I tear to the front door, throw it open, and step onto the porch barefoot. The driveway is wet with early dew. Her truck is there. Widowmaker sits where I left her. No broken glass. No tire marks that shouldn’t be there. No drag marks. No sign of struggle.
I check the cameras. Lottie in an SUV. She left with her. The world narrows.
Lottie.
No.
No, that woman had better have a damn good reason before I put her husband in a shallow hole out of spite.
I run back inside and grab jeans off the floor. My shirt is where Amelia left it after pulling it over my head. Her scentis still in the room. My skin remembers her mouth. My bed remembers her body.
My house has never felt more like a crime scene.
I find the note on the kitchen table after I put on my cut.
Folded once.
My name written in Amelia’s hand.
Derby.
The letters look shaky.
I stare at them for too long before opening it.
I’m sorry.
I had to keep you from becoming something you’d regret.
Please don’t follow.
Take care of yourself.
That is it.
That is all.