24

24
CLAIRE

The door broke open under the pressure of our shoulder. It swung wide, and We stepped inside carefully.

We were met by nothing but darkness.

The living room was completely still. Not a single sign of life. Dust filled the air so thickly that I could taste it at the back of my throat. The place smelled old, like it had been shut for weeks without anyone touching it.

But it was still a home.

Across the mantel were family photos. I could see two kids—Mason and Lila—smiling in one frame. In another picture was a woman, smiling wide, who had to be their mother. Her face was covered with dust.

I remembered the last time I’d been in this house; the frames had been clean then. Lila had taken care to keep them bright. Now, they looked as abandoned as the room.

The air was cold, and the silence seemed heavy, pressing on my ears. It felt wrong. A house shouldn’t be this quiet.

Then I heard it.

A quick scurrying sound broke the silence .It came from upstairs.

It was fast, sharp, like feet trying not to be heard. Like someone running but desperate to avoid being caught.

“Upstairs,” I hissed under my breath.

My instincts kicked in before I could think. I moved for the stairs, gun already raised and my finger on the trigger. Evan was close at my back, his steps were following mine without hesitation.

The sound from above changed as we climbed. It was n o longer just hurried footsteps. Something else. A noise that made the skin on my arms prickle.

Groaning.

Low, drawn-out and ragged. The kind of sound someone makes when they’re hurt. Or worse.
At the landing, we stopped. The narrow hallway stretched out before us. Doors lined the hall, closed and waiting,

I swept my gun from side to side, searching every corner. And then I heard it again.The groaning.

It didn't seem to be random. Nor lost in the walls. It came from one place—the room at the very end of the hall.

Low. Broken and Pained. I didn’t stop to think. I ran towards the door

The door gave way after one last push from my shoulder. It swung open with a loud creak, and I stepped into the room—only to freeze.

Lila.

Mason’s sister lay on the floor, her body twisted awkwardly across the wooden boards. For a second, I thought she was dead. Her skin looked pale, almost drained of life.

Her neck was ringed with dark bruises, shaped like fingers. Someone had wrapped their hands around her throat and squeezed hard.

“Jesus,” Evan muttered. He dropped to her side, two fingers pressing to her throat. Relief flickered across his face. “She’s alive. Barely.”

I couldn’t even reply. My mind was racing too fast, every sense was on high alert.

Because something was wrong.I snapped my head toward the far corner.There, half in shadow, stood a figure. All in black. Hood up. Hands gloved.

And a mask.

Not just any mask. A white one, smooth and blank, except for a spiral carved right across the face. The lines cut deep into the surface, circling and circling like some twisted symbol.

The figure turned its head slowly toward me. For a split second, our eyes locked—or maybe it was just me seeing myself in the black slits of that mask.

I didn’t hesitate. I raised my Glock and shot a bullet.The sound echoed through the house.

The figure jerked as the bullet caught their leg. They stumbled but didn’t fall. In a blink, they threw themselves toward the window. Glass shattered, shards spraying inward as they fell into the night.

“Stop!” I shouted, lunging forward.

I fired again, but too late—the figure limped through the overgrown yard,their dark coat whipping behind them, as they disappeared into the trees.

The forest had taken them.

Every nerve in my body screamed at me to give chase, to hunt them down, to end it before they slipped away for good. My hand tightened around the gun, and for a breath I almost went after them through the broken window.

But behind me—

“Claire.” Evan's voice was strained,i turned to look at him.

He was kneeling on the floor beside Lila. One hand supported the back of her head, the other pressed against her wrist. His face looked was tighter than I had ever seen it.

“She’s crashing,” he said.

I crossed the room and dropped to my knees beside him. Up close, the damage was worse. Angry red welts ringed her throat and some were already darkening into ugly purple. Her lips had gone faintly blue, like she had been underwater too long.

I touched her cheek. It felt cold

“She’s suffocating,” I whispered.

“Yeah,” Evan said grimly.

My mind snapped back to training—calls I’d answered with the LAPD, victims dragged out of alleyways with bruised throats. Strangulation trauma. Minutes mattered. Once the airway swelled shut, it was over.

“The hospital—” I started.

“Too far,” Evan cut me off without hesitation. “Even if we drive flat-out, she won’t make it.”

I knew he was right. Grayhaven wasn’t built for emergencies. The hospital sat on the edge of town, a good thirty minutes away on clear roads. We didn’t have thirty minutes.

I took a deep breath, shoving panic down and locking it away. “Then we stabilize her here. Buy time.”

Evan’s sharp eyes flicked to mine. “You know how?”

“Yes.” My voice came out sharper than I intended. “Help me.”

He didn’t argue. That was one of the things I liked about him—he didn’t waste time when it mattered.

I shoved my gun aside. Tilting Lila’s head back, I pried her jaw open with my fingers. “Airway first,” I muttered. Her throat made a sound that clawed at my nerves. “Come on. Breathe.”

Her chest rose once, then stopped

“No. No, no—”

I pinched her nose, sealed my mouth over hers, and forced two breaths into her lungs. Her chest rose faintly. I pulled back and pressed my fingers to her pulse. Still there. It was weak but there.