Chapter 2: The Siege of Westbrook Avenue

Outside, the rain intensified, drumming against the windows with a violent new urgency. I pulled my cardigan tighter around my shoulders and moved to check on Emma. I desperately needed the comfort of her peaceful breathing.

Her fever had finally broken. Small mercies. I brushed damp curls from her forehead and adjusted her unicorn nightlight, casting a soft lavender glow across her flushed cheeks.

When I stepped back into the living room, my phone buzzed again. And again. And again.

I approached it like it might bite. I read the messages without picking it up.

“I already know who you are, Sophia Ellis.” My full name stared back at me from the cracked glass.

“1422 Westbrook Avenue, Apartment 3B.” My breath caught in my throat like shards of glass.

“Your daughter is feeling better.”

My mind raced through a thousand terrifying possibilities. Was this Mike playing some twisted psychological game? Had my ex-boyfriend finally dragged his family into the dark underbelly of his secretive life?

I peeked through the plastic blinds, half expecting to see a lone figure watching from the street below. The rain-slicked asphalt reflected the amber glow of the streetlights, completely empty except for parked cars.

“I’m just being paranoid,” I muttered to myself. “I have to be.”

Then I saw it. A massive, black Cadillac Escalade, gleaming despite the downpour, pulled up to the curb directly in front of my building.

Its headlights extinguished, but the powerful engine remained running. Thick exhaust formed ghostly tendrils in the freezing night air as I watched, transfixed.

Another identical vehicle appeared, parking tight behind the first. Then another arrived from the opposite direction, blocking the street. Within two minutes, five black SUVs had completely surrounded my building, forming a flawless, ominous perimeter.

My phone vibrated against the linoleum.

“Coming up.” It wasn’t a threat. It was a terrifying statement of fact.

I backed away from the window, my heart hammering violently against my ribs. The building’s front door buzzer hadn’t worked for months. But in that moment, I knew it wouldn’t matter.

Heavy footsteps echoed in the concrete stairwell. They were unhurried but heavily purposeful.

I glanced at my apartment door, looking at its flimsy chain lock and cheap deadbolt. It might as well have been made of wet paper against whoever was climbing those stairs.

The footsteps stopped right outside my door. The silence stretched for three heartbeats, then four.

No knock came. Instead, the screen on the floor lit up.

“Open the door, Sophia.”

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