Page 172 of Show Me

The flashlight clicks on. Its beam sweeps the yard in slow arcs. Driveway. Fence. Tree line. Truck.

He freezes. “Jesus...”

“What?”

I stay inside exactly where he left me.

His light settles on the truck. The rear windshield has exploded inward. Glass blankets the back seat. A rock lies beside the tire. Something white is taped around it.

He scans the yard one more time before crossing to it and never taking the same angle twice. Only after another slow sweep does he crouch and pick up the note.

“What does it say?”

He doesn’t answer. Instead, he walks back to the porch before handing it to me.

She doesn’t want you.

Something tightens painfully in my chest. Not because I believe it. Because whoever did this wants him gone badly enough to stand in the dark outside my house throwing rocks through windows.

My hands start shaking. Not subtle. Not controllable.

“Hey.” His hand settles against the back of my neck, grounding. “Breathe. It’s going to be fine. I’m here. No one is going to get to you.”

“Okay.” I try. The frigid air burns going down as I bite my bottom lip to keep it from trembling.

“This time, we’ve got them.”

With his free hand, Xavier lifts the flashlight toward the corner of the house. And he goes still again. The camera hangs crooked beneath the roofline. Broken. The lens smashed inward.

“Oh, my God.”

He swings the light toward the backyard. The second camera is dark too. Destroyed. Whoever did this got close enough to hit both of them. Close enough to stand under the corners of the house while we slept.

“The fucking bastard.” His voice is flat. Controlled in a way that I’ve never heard before. The flashlight sweeps the tree line again. Nothing moves—no sound except the wind brushing through the trees and the faint rustle from the pig pen. Long gone.

But they were here. In the yard. Stalking me. Destroying my property. Xavier’s property. Threatening us.

Xavier turns back toward the house. “We’re leaving.”

I don’t argue. Not even a little. “What about the pigs?”

“I’ll come back in the morning.”

The broken window creaks behind us as another gust pushes through the shattered glass. I look back at the house—the jagged hole in the front window. The glass scattered across my hardwood floor. The curtains stirring in the cold air.

This is home. Or... It was. A few hours ago, these walls felt solid. Safe. Now all I see is how easy it was. One rock. One window. One step closer.

The note in my hands. Xavier's truck. The shattered glass glittering across the back seat. The messages weren't meant to scare me anymore. They were meant to convince me there was nowhere left to hide.

Something tightens deep in my chest. Not panic. Not yet. Something colder. The certainty that whoever's doing this isn't going away. They're getting bolder. More confident.

Xavier grabs my hand. “Pack a bag.”

My fingers curl around his. He starts toward the door, already thinking three steps ahead, already moving into fix-it mode. Locks. Truck. Windows. What comes next.

I look once more toward the edge of the property. The fence line. The dark beyond it. Nothing there. But for the first time since this started, I don’t feel watched.

I feel hunted.