Three sentences had been written in darker ink.
Jared and Vanessa care about how things look.
You care about whether things last.
Watch what happens next.
I read those words again.
An uneasy feeling moved through me.
Thomas had known.
Maybe not every detail.
But enough.
At the very back of the notebook, beneath a diagram of the driveway, he had taped a small black remote control.
Beside it, he had written:
Front gate.
Press once to close.
Press again to open.
And below that:
No one enters this property unless you choose to let them.
I set the notebook down.
That night, for the first time in months, I slept without listening for someone calling my name.
I woke to sunlight spilling across the quilt.
Outside, the mountains stretched toward the horizon like layers of blue silk.
For a few minutes, I almost felt peaceful.
Then my phone buzzed.
