My office door is shut.
My bedroom door open—wide open.
I stop at the landing, breath tight.
Noah?
The word is silent in my mind; I don’t dare speak it.
Stella would hear.
Within seconds, my palm closes over my office doorknob.
I twist.
A crash explodes inside the room.
Jessica spins toward me.
Her eyes are wild. Her hair is damp—night air or sweat, I couldn’t say—and in her shaking hand, she holds a small black handgun. The muzzle wobbles, trembling like her wrist can’t bear its weight.
“Close the door,” she says.
Her voice is soft.
Too soft.
A dead calm wearing hysteria underneath.
I swallow hard. Then close the door.
Noah’s somewhere nearby—I can feel it in my bones—but he isn’t here now. Not between me and the trembling gun.
“What’s going on, Jessica?”
“Lock it.”
My fingers fumble at the bolt. It slides into place with a quiet click.
The corner floor lamp casts a warm golden haze behind her, turning the edges of her hair into a halo, a cruel contrast to the shadow across her face.
“How did you get in?” I whisper.
She mutters something—fragmented, slurred. Incoherent.
Her gaze jerks toward my open drawer.
USB drives. Four of them.
She scoops them up with frantic, jerking motions and shoves them into her coat pocket.
“Jessica—”
Her name barely leaves my mouth before she flinches, eyes darting to the windows. Mud smears the sill. The latch hangs crooked.
She climbed in.
“Can I help you with something?” I ask, trying to keep my voice soothing and low, mindful of Stella upstairs.