Then a sound came through the call.
A faint crunch.
Snow beneath boots.
Vanessa heard it too.
Her eyes shifted.
The police were close.
Too close.
She smiled then, but it was different.
Not cruel.
Tired.
“You shouldn’t have told them the cabin,” she said.
“I didn’t.”
“Yes, you did. Not with words.”
She turned the camera toward Ryan.
He was shaking uncontrollably.
“Say goodbye to your wife,” Vanessa said.
Ryan sobbed. “Emma, please. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. Tell Ethan I—”
“Don’t say his name,” I said.
Ryan stopped.
The hatred in my own voice startled me.
Vanessa looked at me one last time.
“Goodbye, sister.”
The screen went black.
Seconds later, gunfire cracked through the open call line.
Once.
Twice.
Then silence.
I screamed.
Not because I knew who had been shot.
Because I did not.
The next hour was the longest hour of my life.
No one would tell me anything because no one knew enough. Bennett’s team had lost the live feed. The tactical unit had entered the property. Shots had been fired inside the cabin.
Nathan was there.
Daniel was there.
Ryan was there.
Vanessa was there.
And I was trapped in a hospital bed with my newborn son, listening to officers speak in clipped codes outside my door.
Finally, Detective Bennett called.
Her face appeared on the screen.
Blood marked her collar.
My heart stopped.
“Nathan?” I asked.
“He’s alive.”
“Daniel?”
“Alive.”
I sobbed once.
“Ryan?”
Bennett’s face hardened.
“Alive. Wounded, but alive.”
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