The sound came first—a faint scrape against the far window.

Soft enough that I almost convinced myself I’d imagined it.

Then it came again.

Slower this time. Deliberate.

I froze mid-step, every muscle tightening. My hand went to the holster at my back, my heartbeat turning into a steady drum against my ribs.

Nia was still in the bedroom—door locked, just like I’d told her. I moved toward the noise, weight shifting silently over the hardwood. Outside, the street was dead quiet, the ...