The ride back home felt heavier than the hospital air. Chloe moved carefully, her stitches pulling whenever she shifted, but Zoe never left her side, fussing over every step. By the time they reached the apartment, Chloe just wanted to collapse into bed.

But the wreath was there. Sitting in the corner, pale flowers already starting to wilt, their scent sickly-sweet. The note lay on the table, its jagged handwriting still haunting Chloe.

When Melinda arrived, her expression was already hard, ...