Three days.

Three days since we arrived in Denver, I can't shake this feeling that something is wrong. Not just the usual wrong that comes with living with James-this is different. Deeper.

I press my face against the kitchen window, scanning the quiet street for today's hundredth time. Nothing. Just empty sidewalks and unfamiliar houses with their perfectly manicured lawns.

"What are you looking at?" James's voice cuts through my thoughts like a blade.

I don't flinch anymore. I've learned ...