The darkness wrapped around them like a second skin. The fire had gone out in the power surge, leaving only embers glowing faintly. Sarah stood frozen, her breath shallow, eyes wide.
Ace moved fast but quiet, taking a flashlight from a drawer near the kitchen and flicking it on. The beam was narrow, harsh, and it cut through the shadows like a scalpel.
"Upstairs," he said to Sarah. "Now."
She didn't argue. Her feet moved before her mind caught up. The house creaked with every step. Behind her, Ace followed—his presence just a few feet away, the flashlight swinging side to side like a blade of light.
When they reached the bedroom, he locked the door behind them.
Sarah turned to him. "You don't even want to know what I'm hiding first?"
"I already know," he said. "At least part of it."
"You don't."
Ace crossed the room, opened a small safe in the wall, and pulled out a black folder with her name on it.
She stared, stunned. "You were tracking me."
"I was protecting you. From a distance. Until you stopped running and came back."
Her throat tightened. "How long?"
"Two years."
Sarah moved to the window, pressed her hand to the cold glass. She could see nothing. But she could feel it. Something was down there. Something that knew her name and wore it like a curse.
"They call him Hal," she said softly. "Or whatever's left of him."
Ace froze.
"He's not human anymore," she whispered. "He used to be. I loved him. I thought I did."
A silence fell heavy between them.
Then Ace asked, "What did you do to him?"
She turned, slowly. "I left him buried."
"And now he's not."
A soft knock sounded again—but this time, it wasn't at the front door.
It came from the upstairs window.
The one right behind Sarah.
Ace lunged just as glass shattered inward and cold, wet fingers clawed through.