Chapter 1
Kyla POV:
My fingers curl around the doorknob, turning it as I glance back over my shoulder at my best friend.
“Bye, Steph.”
She lifts a hand in a lazy wave, already stepping back.
Behind her, the sky bleeds into brilliant streaks of purple and red, the last light stretching thin across the horizon.
“Bye, Ky. Text me when you finish the project, yeah?”
“Yeah.”
I push the door open when-
Beep.
I pause, sighing as I pull my phone from my bag.
Behind me, stephanie clicks her tongue.
“Dylan again?”
I glance down at the number and exhale. “Yeah.”
She snorts. “Come on, K. Throw the guy a bone already, he’s practically going dizzy doing laps around you.”
I shake my head.
“It’s too much work, Steph. I just want to focus on college right now.”
She studies me for a beat.
“You heard back from anyone yet?”
“Yeah. Got two offers. Both have solid nursing programs.”
“Let me guess,” she rolls her eyes. “You’ll pick whichever’s closest to home, right?”
I shift on my feet, not really answering.
She snorts again, “God, Kyla, you’re such a daddy’s girl.”
“It’s not that, Steph.” I shake my head softly. “You know how lonely Dad’s been since Mom died. I can’t just leave him like that.”
She gives me a flat look.
“Come on, Ky. Your dad’s not that lonely.” Then she leans in slightly, “What about that hot lady we saw at your place the other day?”
I laugh. “Who? Mel?”
“Yup. That pretty lady with those long legs.”
I laugh again. “Gosh, Steph. They’re just friends. Have been since high school.”
She lifts a brow. “Kyla... she was at your place at two in the morning.”
I shoot her a look. “Not that it’s any of your business, but Mel’s married. Or was. To some asshole.”
I exhale softly. “And apparently he’s bad news. Dad’s just trying to help her out.”
Steph shifts, brows pulling together. “Wait... isn’t your dad a pharmacist? Since when is he handling stuff like that?
I frown. “Yeah, but he knows people. His cousin, Greg, works with the FBI or something.” I shrug a little, like it’s obvious. “He’s just trying to... set her up somewhere safer. Help her out.”
She chortles. “Oh, he’s helping her, alright—”
She pitches her voice into something breathy and over-the-top. “Oh, Clint, help me... help me right there—”
“Ew!” I smack her shoulder, heat rushing to my face. “You’re so gross!”
She sticks her tongue out at me as I grab the knob a second time.
“So... I’ll see you tomorrow?”
Steph adjusts her bag straps, already turning away. “Yeah.”
“Bye, Steph”
“Byeeee,” She drags it out as she walks off, sing-song.
I linger for a second, watching her walk down the porch steps and disappear around the corner. Then I push the door open.
“Dad, I’m home!” I call, stepping inside. “Sorry I’m late! I had a project!”
I hang my backpack on the hook, kick off my shoes, and head further in.
The evening sun stretches long shadows across the walls. The TV flickers in the living room.
I lean in, peeking inside.
A half empty mug of coffee sits on the arm rest, steam still curling upwards.
“Dad?”
No answer.
Where is he?
My eyes flick to the screen.
Eagles vs. Bulls.
What could possibly be important enough to pull him away from this?
I frown when I notice the faucet still running.
A prickle crawls across my scalp, unease slipping in quietly.
I wrap my arms around myself and move slowly toward the kitchen island,
Reaching out, I twist the handle shut.
The faucet lets out a sharp squeak that cuts through the silence.
I shudder.
“Dad... where are you?”
Something catches my eye.
On the floor.
Two long...legs?
Sticking out from behind the island.
Lying motionless across the cold tile.
Clad in those jeans I’d recognize anywhere.
My heart slams hard against my ribs, the sound drowning everything else.
“Dad...” I whisper.
He doesn’t move.
Doesn’t even twitch.
Something is wrong.
So, so wrong.
I stand frozen for a second longer before something crashes through me—
I move.
One step.
Then another.
Then another.
Until I round the island.
A gasp tears out of me, my hands flying to my mouth.
Dad—
His face...
Twisted. ..Lifeless.
A dark puddle spreads beside him, creeping outward, soaking into his shirt... his fingers.
My vision tilts. My stomach lurches.
I grab the counter to steady myself.
“Dad!” The word breaks out of me, strangled, as my knees give and I collapse beside him.
For a second, my mind goes completely blank.
Then something clicks.
I should check him.
His pulse.
Yes—his pulse.
I should...
My hand shakes as I reach for his neck, and flinch the second I touch him.
Cold.
He’s cold.
So so cold...
My hand lingers there anyway, like if I just wait long enough, he’ll warm up.
This is a dream.
It has to be.
Any second now, I’ll wake up in my bed. Dad will be in the kitchen making coffee. The TV will still be too loud.
“Okay...” I whisper, my voice thin, barely there. “Okay, Kyla... focus.”
My eyes dart around the room like I’m seeing it for the first time.
“Call the cops,” I murmur to myself. “Call the cops. That’s what you do.”
My gaze snaps toward the hallway.
My phone.
It’s still by the entrance. I left it in my bag.
I push myself up, my legs unsteady, my body slow to respond like I’m moving through water.
One step.
Then another.
Don’t look at him.
Don’t—
My eyes flick down anyway.
And that’s when it hits again.
Harder.
He’s not moving.
He’s not breathing.
He’s—
My stomach twists violently and I choke on a breath, pressing a hand to my mouth as I force myself to turn away.
Clank!
The sound snaps through the house.
I jerk around, spinning on my knees, heart lurching into my throat.
My eyes dart wildly—
And freeze.
The metallic kettle sitting on the counter catches the light,
the red light still on from dad’s coffee.
and in its curved reflection—
Two figures.
Behind me.
Closing in.
My breath catches so hard it burns.
No.
No no no—
My gaze flicks to the patio door swaying softly in the evening breeze.
Open.
My exit.
My pulse pounds violently in my ears.
I can hear them now.
Heavy footsteps.
One of them mutters something low and impatient.
They’re getting closer.
I squeeze my eyes shut for half a second.
Then I scream as I snatch the kettle off the counter and spin around with everything I have.
Boiling water flies first.
Then the kettle itself.
It slams hard into one of the men with a sick metallic crack just as the water splashes across his face and chest.
He hisses in pain, doubling over instantly.
“Fuck!”
The second man lunges forward but trips over him in the chaos, crashing into the side table hard enough to send it skidding across the floor.
The distraction lasts barely a second.
But it’s enough.
I run.
Barefoot.
Half sobbing.
Half screaming.
Out the patio door and straight into the street.
