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The sidewalk is empty.

Old Mill Row is still sleepy and quiet, the curtains drawn, cars parked in driveways. The world is pretending it’s safe because it looks that way.

I scan left. Then right. Then over to the hedge line.

It’s still.

I swallow, forcing air into my lungs.

It’s fine.

Maybe I imagined it.

Maybe it was a squirrel running along the hedges, and I mistook the sound for human. Maybe?—

Footsteps come again, closer this time.

My breath catches.

I don’t turn immediately.

Instead, I do what I’ve always done when my instincts start screaming—I listen and count for three beats.

But all I hear is silence.

My shoulders begin to relax... until I hear another step.

I freeze, then slowly turn around.

Nothing.

A cold, nagging suspicion settles in my gut.

Someone wants me to know they’re here.

My fingers tighten around the mail.

I take one slow step toward the house.

But then, the unmistakable snap of a twig.

My heart bangs hard in my chest.

I keep walking up the last stretch of the driveway, my shoes scuffing softly against the damp blacktop.

The air feels heavier, like it’s pressing in on me.

I don’t look back again until I reach the front door.

My hand closes around the knob.

I pause.

Then I turn—just enough—to glance over my shoulder one last time.

Only the hedge line and the quiet street behind me.

I step inside, shutting and locking the door behind me.