The cat stops eating, body tense.
“I’m delightful,” she says in a soothing voice. “I promise I won’t hurt you.”
I press myself deeper into the shadows, listening like a lunatic who has definitely crossed a line and is aware of it.
The cat begins eating again, and she smiles.
She watches him for a few beats. Her sigh floats in the cool, crisp night air. “Ok, Mr. Pickles. Maybe tomorrow you’ll let me pet you.”
She stares at the cat with longing before heading inside, the door shutting behind her.
I listen for the click of a lock. None comes.
I wait for a few beats, then move. Quiet. Controlled.
I circle the house and stop by the kitchen window. Thelight spills out, and Ivy is inside, pouring herself a glass of water.
My foot catches a rock when I shift, knocking it against the side of the house.
She pauses, her head jerking toward the window.
My stomach drops.
Oh, God.
Oh, God.
She sees?—
No.
Her gaze slides past the window, blankly staring at the kitchen wall like she’s lost in thought.
Relief floods me.She doesn’t see me.
Thank goodness. I nearly had a heart attack. My mind was full of the inevitable lights flipping on, alarms blaring, Ivy screaming, police arriving, and my face on the neighborhood app under “WARNING: MASKED MAN.”
She takes a drink, then moves, heading into the dining room.
I dodged a bullet.
I follow, easing through the shadows, my body close to the siding as I move to the window to get a better view of her.
She sits at the table, her eyes on the phone.
I take another step, my attention completely riveted on her.
What is she?—
My foot slams into the trash can, and it topples with a sickening crash onto the patio, taking me with it.
Mr. Pickles hisses, then scurries away. I barely manage to catch myself on my hands, my knees hitting the patio.
Shit.
I leap to my feet—and flee. I don’t think.I just bolt.
“Who’s there?” Her panicked voice calls behind me.
