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“Yes.” My voice came out as a whisper.

Roxie tore open the slime-covered envelope and pulled out a single sheet of paper. Her expression darkened as she read.

“What does it say?” I asked, though I wasn't sure I wanted to know.

“Joy, you know what you need to do. Leave him. This is your last warning.” Roxie looked up at me, her face pale. “That's it. Just those three sentences.”

The room spun around me. I gripped the door jamb to keep from falling.

“He was here,” I managed. “In the clinic. He put those eggs in the trash and left that note.”

“When?” Ava’s voice was sharp, edged with fear. “We’ve been here all day.”

“The smell,” Roxie said slowly. “Rotten eggs don’t stink right away. It takes hours for the odor to build up.”

“So he could’ve planted them this morning before we opened,” I said, “or last night after we closed.”

The image of my stalker moving through the clinic in the dark—quiet, deliberate, leaving his sick little surprise for us to find—made my stomach lurch.

My phone buzzed with a text from Graham. Outside. Ready when you are.

“I have to go,” I said, my voice shaking. “Graham's here.”

“Joy, wait.” Roxie caught my arm. “We should call the police.”

“Graham will want to handle it.” I was already moving toward the door. “I'll call you later.”

I practically ran to Graham's truck, climbing into the passenger seat with relief. The familiar scent of leather and motor oil felt like safety.

“You okay?” Graham's eyes searched my face. “You look shaken.”

“Someone left rotten eggs in the clinic trash. And another note.”

Graham's expression turned thunderous. “What did it say?”

“That I should leave you. That it was my last warning.”

“Motherfucker.” Graham pulled out his phone. “I'm calling Simon.”

The drive home passed in a blur of phone calls and tense planning. By the time we reached Graham's house, I felt emotionally drained. All I wanted was to curl up in his arms and pretend the world outside didn't exist.

We went through our evening routine like zombies. Dinner from takeout containers. A shower together where we barely spoke. Graham checked and double-checked the locks on every door and window while I got ready for bed.

By eleven-thirty, we were both exhausted. I fell asleep almost immediately, wrapped in Graham's arms, feeling safer than I had all day.

The sound that woke me wasn't human. It was mechanical.

Urgent.

Wrong.

Sirens.

Multiple sirens, growing closer and louder until they seemed to be right outside our window.

I bolted upright, my heart hammering against my ribs. The red and blue lights strobing through the blinds painted the bedroom in hellish colors.

“What the hell?” Graham was already moving, rolling out of bed and reaching for his jeans.