Silence filled the car again as they drove through their neighborhood, the sun sliding low behind the houses. Nicole fidgeted with her sleeves, the air thick with more than just tension. There was fear there too. And guilt.
"Did you tell Dad anything?" she asked.
"No," Jaden said. "But he's home. So is Alex. And Chelsea."
The second they pulled into the driveway, Nicole saw the car parked outside and felt her stomach drop.
Jaden parked the car, sighed hard, and looked at Nicole.
"You okay?"
She hesitated. Then gave the smallest nod.
"Yeah. Let's get this over with."
They stepped out of the car like they were stepping into enemy territory.
Nicole adjusted her hoodie and steeled herself for whatever version of fake Alex was playing tonight—and whatever judgment her father might throw her way this time.
The front door had barely swung shut behind them before their father's voice boomed from the living room.
"Nicole."
She froze mid-step. Jaden and Mark exchanged a look but said nothing.
She stepped forward into the living room. Alex was perched elegantly on the couch, legs crossed, a wine glass in hand. Chelsea sat beside her like she belonged in a catalog—pressed, polished, and silent.
Her father stood near the fireplace, sleeves rolled, jaw tight. He looked pissed.
"Want to explain to me why two cops came to the house today?" he snapped.
Nicole blinked. "They came here?"
"They're looking for you," he continued, voice sharp. "They said something happened at school. Something serious. And they wanted to ask you questions."
Nicole kept her face blank, her tone even. "I didn't do anything."
"That's not an answer."
"I don't have one," she said. "I'm not about to tell cops something when I don't even know what they're accusing me of."
Her dad took a step forward, towering. "You're on thin ice already, Nicole. And now the school's calling, cops are showing up—what the hell are you doing with your life?"
Behind him, Alex shifted like she wanted to say something but didn't.
Nicole's voice came out low, bitter. "Living it."
"Don't play smart with me."
"I'm not. I'm telling you I didn't do anything. And if the cops had proof, they wouldn't be asking questions. They'd be locking me up."
Her father's hands clenched at his sides. "You think that makes it better? The reputation I've built—you're dragging it through the mud. The people I work with? They see this kind of news online, Nicole."
"I didn't ask you to defend me. You never do anyway."
That one hit. His nostrils flared, but he didn't say anything for a beat.
Then he shook his head. "I'm done with this conversation. Go to your room. Now."
Nicole stared at him, cold. "Happily."
She turned, walking past Chelsea without a glance. Jaden moved like he was going to follow her, but Mark gave him a look and stayed behind instead.
She didn't slam her door.
She just shut it.
Quietly.
Because what was the point of making noise when no one was listening anyway?
<<<<<<<<>>>>>>>>>>
The sun hadn't even climbed fully up yet.
Nicole swung her backpack over one shoulder, stepping out the front door with earbuds in and a hoodie thrown up. She didn't expect to see her father standing on the porch, coffee in hand. He was already dressed. Suit. Watch. The usual armor of someone trying too hard to stay in control.
They didn't say anything to each other. Just tension and silence hanging like a second sky.
Until two black-and-white cruisers pulled up at the curb.
Her dad turned before she did. The shift in his stance said everything. Nicole ripped out one earbud.
Two officers stepped out. Same ones from school.
"Miss Jackson ?" one of them called.
She paused. Didn't move. But her fingers tightened on her bag strap.
Her father stepped forward, calm but clipped. "Is this really necessary? Showing up at our house?"
"We just need to ask your daughter a few questions," one officer replied. "We've tried the school. Figured we'd save time."
Nicole raised her chin, expression blank. "Ask."
The older officer opened a small notebook. "We've been speaking to students at Lincoln about an incident that occurred earlier this week. A student was found unconscious—Angel Rivera. She's still in a coma. We were told you had some kind of altercation with her earlier that day."
Nicole blinked. "Told by who?"
"We can't share that," the officer said smoothly. "We just need to know where you were around 3 p.m. on Tuesday. And if you had any contact with Angel before that."
Nicole was silent for a moment. Then shrugged. "I wasn't with her."
The younger officer's brows lifted slightly. "Can anyone confirm that?"
Nicole's jaw tensed. "What's this really about? You don't have footage. You don't have proof. You're just hoping I say something wrong."
The older officer's voice lowered. "You don't seem all that concerned a girl you knew is fighting for her life."
Nicole's eyes sharpened. "Don't twist my tone just because I'm not crying for someone who wasn't even a friend."
Her dad cut in. "That's enough."
The officers exchanged a glance.
"We may follow up again," one of them said. "Until then, stay reachable."
They turned and walked off. Her father watched them go with a clenched jaw, then turned to her.
Nicole opened the car door.
"You want to say something?" she asked.
His voice was a low growl. "I suggest you get your story straight before they come back. And I swear to God, Nicole, if I find out you had anything to do with that girl…"
She slid into the seat and slammed the door before he could finish.
Windows up. Music on. Numb.
Just stared at her reflection in the rearview.
Who the hell even am I anymore?
Lincoln High felt colder.
Not weather-wise—just energy. Eyes followed her. Whispers chased behind her back like ghosts that couldn't mind their damn business.
Nicole walked through the hallway like she couldn't hear a thing, head up, hoodie down. Principal's orders. She wasn't allowed to pass through the back doors anymore because it was out of bounds for students.
She passed a group of girls—cheerleaders—and caught her name laced with the word coma. She almost turned around.
Almost. But she kept walking, shoulders locked. She knew what this was now. Every fake friend was flipping sides. Every hallway a war zone. Even Sky was quiet—When she stepped into the gym, Marcos was already there. Shirt off this time, wiping sweat from his chest with a towel like he wasn't in deep shit too.
He smirked. "You're late."
She ignored him. Walked straight to the bucket and grabbed the mop like this was just another prison sentence.
"Let me guess," he added. "Cops dropped by?"
She didn't flinch. Just shoved the mop across the floor, aggressive.
"Thought so," he muttered. "You didn't crack, right?"
Nicole spun on him. "Why would I?"
"Because people talk when they're scared."
She held his gaze, jaw tight. "I'm not scared."
He looked her over—like he didn't believe it,
Then came the creak of the gym door.
Mr. Frank stepped in, arms folded, clipboard in hand. "Jackson. Back again. What a surprise." His voice was all edge.
She didn't look at him.
"You've got forty five minutes of gym cleanup today. Floors, bleachers, and equipment. After that, you head straight to Coach Dray for court setup."
Marcos laughed under his breath. "Manual labor for a kiss. Worth it."
Nicole snapped her head toward him with a glare. Mr. Frank noticed.
He didn't say anything. Just scribbled something on the clipboard and walked off.
The gym door slammed shut behind him.
Nicole picked up the pace with the mop. Silent. Jaw clenched.
<<<<<<<<<>>>>>>>>>>>
The sound of squeaking sneakers echoed through the wide gym. Folding chairs scraped against the hardwood as Nicole dragged them out, one by one, to line the edge of the court. Her face was unreadable. She didn't speak to Marcos. He didn't speak to her either.
Coach Dray stood near the rack of basketballs, spinning one lazily on his finger, half-watching them, half-thinking.
"This whole place needs to be game-day ready," he said, voice calm but with a hint of authority. "Wipe down the benches, set the cones, and make sure the chairs are straight. No half-assing it."
Nicole glanced at him briefly narrowed her eyes annoyingly, then went back to working. Marcos tossed down a cone with just a little too much force, letting it bounce across the floor before walking over to get it.
"I'm just saying," he muttered, loud enough for her to hear, "some of us don't belong here."
Nicole didn't even look at him. "Then leave."
He chuckled dryly. "Trust me, I would. But apparently I 'ruined the school's image.' So here I am."
Nicole bit the inside of her cheek.
" this isn't about punishment" she said, eyes still on the chairs. "This is a cover-up. We're cleaning their reputation, not the gym."
Marcos glanced at her, surprised she said it out loud. "Takes two to ruin a rep, princess."
Nicole turned sharply toward him, but Dray stepped between them.
"Enough," he said, cool and clear. "This isn't a playground fight. You want to scream at each other, do it on your own time. Right now, this court's not going to set itself up."
Marcos eventually wandered off toward the far end of the court, pretending to adjust cones, but mostly just scrolling his phone. His energy was off—lazy, deflective. Avoidant.
Dray caught the shift and subtly made his way over to Nicole, who was wiping down the benches in sharp, silent swipes. She didn't look up.
"You gonna break the wood if you keep wiping like that," he said low, his voice laced with dry humor.
Nicole didn't laugh.
Dray leaned against the scorer's table beside her. "You okay?"
She gave him a sideways glance. "Why are you even asking?"
"Because most people don't freeze up when they hear the word 'cop' unless they've got a reason to."
Nicole looked away, jaw tightening. "It's not your business."
Nicole stopped wiping.
"You think I'm guilty?" she asked, voice low.
"I think you're scared," Dray said evenly. "And I think you're used to handling things your own way."
Nicole turned, facing him. She hated how calm he sounded—how steady. It made her feel exposed.
"Don't try to be some therapist," she said.
Dray gave a small shrug. "When I saw you in that bar the other night. You didn't look like someone who wanted to be left alone."
Nicole looked up sharply, eyes flashing.
Then Dray gently nudged a basketball with his foot. "You still play?"
Nicole blinked. "What?"
"Basketball. You play, right?"
"I used to."
He tossed the ball into her arms with one clean motion. She caught it automatically.
"Then take a break. Shoot around with me for five minutes."
Nicole looked down at the ball, unsure.
"I'm not asking to fix you," Dray said. "I just think it's harder to stay angry when you're hitting clean shots."
Nicole gave a short breath, something between a laugh and a scoff.
She looked up. Dray was already walking to the free-throw line, spinning another ball in his hand.
"Come on, trouble," he called over his shoulder. "Let's see what you've got."
Behind her, a loud thud. Marcos dropped a stack of cones and dragged a bench noisily across the court like he had beef with the floor.
"He always third-wheels like this?" Dray asked.
Marcos cut in from the sidelines. "Oh, you're something, alright."
Nicole shot him a glare.
Dray said "If you're trying to make noise, man, congrats. You're killin' it."
Marcos snorted. "Nah. I'm just waiting for her to remember this isn't recess."
Nicole turned toward Marcos, still gripping the ball. "You got a problem with me playing?"
"No," Marcos said, slow and smug. "I just didn't know you were the type to flirt your way through punishment."
That one hit different.
Nicole didn't speak.
But she stepped up. Walked past Dray. Took a shot.
The ball soared—clean swish.
Dray gave a low whistle. "Damn."
Marcos raised a brow, unimpressed. "Cute."
Nicole spun toward him. "Say that again?"
Dray stepped between them like it was muscle memory. "Alright. Break's over. We're not doing this."
Nicole's phone buzzed.
She pulled it out, barely blinking as she read the message:
Jaden:
Tonight. We're going to that Angel's mom's place. Be ready. We'll pick you up.
She went still.
Marcos leaned back against the wall, folding his arms.
"I'll be at the storage room," he muttered, then disappeared through the door.
Dray watched him leave before turning to Nicole.
Dray caught the shift in her eyes before she could hide it. "Everything okay?"
Nicole nodded quickly, too quickly. "Yeah. Just… my brother."
Dray tilted his head. "Something serious?"
She met his eyes for a beat, then shook it off. "I was gonna ask you something."
He leaned against the scorers table. "Shoot."
She crossed her arms. "Do you want to go to the bar off Carter Avenue? The one with the broken neon sign?"
Dray smirked. "Yeah. Why?"
"Wanna go tonight?"
He raised a brow. "What's there tonight?"
Nicole shrugged. "Nothing. I just figured if you're not busy… maybe we get a drink."
There was a pause. Measured. Curious.
"You asking me to hang out?" Dray asked, smiling slightly.
"I'm asking if you wanna shoot pool and not talk about school. Or gym floors. Or Marcos."
He stared at her, reading deeper than she wanted.
"Alright," he said. "You buying the first round?"
"Hell no."
Dray laughed under his breath. "Then I'm in."
Nicole smiled faintly, but her fingers tightened around her phone. That message from Jaden still burned in her head like a warning flare.
Tonight was going to get dark.
But she wasn't ready to face it yet.
The last cone landed with a thud as Nicole dropped it into the storage bin. Her arms ached, her hoodie clung to her back from sweat, and her patience was fried. But it was done. Finally.
Dray stood on the court, clipboard in hand, watching her finish up.
"Not bad," he said, scribbling something down. "For a girl with rage issues."
Nicole smirked, brushing her hands on her jeans. "You wanna see rage, ask Marcos to help next time."
He chuckled, stepping closer. "So… you still down for tonight?"
Nicole pulled her phone from her pocket, checked the time. "Nine. I'll be there."
Dray nodded, like that was all he needed. "Cool."
She gave him a two-fingered salute, grabbed her backpack, and headed toward the gym doors. She didn't need to look back to know he was still watching her.
Outside, the air hit her like a slap—cool, sharp, real.
Jaden's car was already there, engine idling at the curb. Mark was in the backseat, window half-down, music low. Jaden leaned against the hood, arms crossed.
"Took your damn time," he said.
Nicole shrugged. "Hard labor builds character, right?"
Jaden didn't laugh.
Instead, he pushed off the hood, opened the passenger door for her. "Get in. We got things to talk about."
Nicole slid in without a word. Something about his tone made her stomach twist. Not fear. Just… that heavy feeling. The kind that meant tonight wasn't going to be normal.
Mark leaned up between the seats. "You still sure about this?"
"No," Nicole said. "But we're doing it anyway."
Jaden started the car. The tires rolled slow over the gravel as they pulled away from the school.
Behind her, Lincoln High shrank in the mirror—Dray, the court, the gym lights fading out like a memory she wasn't sure she wanted to keep.
The car ride was quiet at first. The kind of quiet that wasn't peaceful—just thick.
Mark finally broke it, glancing at his notes on his phone. "She usually gets back around six. She leaves again at nine to take her evening walk or whatever. But she's definitely home now."
Nicole leaned back against the seat, fingers drumming against her thigh. Her heart wasn't racing yet, but something about this felt… close. Too close.
"How do you even know her schedule like that?" she muttered.
"I've been watching," Mark said casually. "Nothing weird. Just making sure she ain't creeping up on us."
Jaden snorted. "It's not her you need to watch. It's the damn cops."
Nicole turned to him. "What?"
He sighed, rubbing his hand over his jaw. "They came to the house."
Her breath hitched.
"They said they wanted to ask Dad a few questions. Something about following up on school reports." Jaden's voice dropped low. "Said students claimed they've seen you with drugs."
Nicole's mouth opened, but no words came out.
"Then," Jaden continued, "they said they might check the property. Said drug behavior could run in the family. Like they were trying to spook us."
Mark scoffed. "Or catch us."
Jaden's jaw clenched. "Luckily they didn't go through my room."
Nicole turned sharply. "Why the hell would they even need to go through your room?"
Jaden didn't answer right away.
Then: "Because I had stuff in there, okay?"
Nicole sat up straighter. "You brought that crap to the house?"
"It's not like I planned to keep it there forever," he snapped. "It was just for a week. Maybe two. And it's not even mine, technically."
"Oh, great," she said. "So now if the cops show up again, we all go down for your 'not technically mine' stash?"
He hit the brakes harder than necessary at a stoplight, glaring through the windshield. "If Angel's mom would let this go, none of this would be happening."
Nicole's voice dropped cold. "You blaming her?"
"I'm blaming her for being obsessed. Her daughter got in one fight, and now she thinks we're all criminals."
"She's in a coma, Jaden."
He looked at her. "And whose fault is it, my fault?"
Nicole didn't reply. Just stared out the window as the streets darkened.
This wasn't about right or wrong anymore. This was about survival.
Angel's Mom's Apartment — Night
The apartment complex was quiet, dimly lit. Too quiet. They took the stairs instead of the elevator, no one said a word.
Mark knocked twice, light and calm like they were just kids selling cookies.
A pause.
Then the door cracked open, guarded. Angel's mom peeked out—tired eyes, hair in a loose bun, one hand holding the door edge like she didn't fully trust it.
"Yes?"
Jaden stepped forward. "Hi. Sorry to bother you. I'm Jaden Jackson… this is my brother Mark, and our sister Nicole."
She looked at Nicole long. Her eyes tightened, reading her like a puzzle she'd already solved. "Nicole. From Lincoln."
Nicole stayed still.
"What do you want?" she asked, not opening the door wider.
"We just wanna talk," Jaden said calmly. "No drama. Nothing stupid. Just a conversation."
She hesitated—then opened the door a little wider. "Fine. Two minutes."
They stepped inside.
It was a modest apartment—clean, dim, with framed photos of Angel on the wall. One of her in her cheer uniform. Nicole's stomach turned.
"Make it quick," the woman said, arms folded.
Jaden stood tall. "I know you've been doing everything you can to figure out what happened to your daughter. We respect that. But Nicole didn't do it."
"She was there," the woman said.
"What evidence do you have?—"
"She was found nearly dead. You expect me to believe your little sister didn't do anything?" Her voice cracked at the edge, emotion bleeding through. "Students in school said she is capable of that."
Nicole stepped forward. "Angel and i aren't friends but I will not hurt her—"
"I want to talk to your parents," she said firmly, eyes flicking between them. "Not just some kids trying to save face."
Jaden's tone sharpened. "We are responsible for each other. You're talking to who you're gonna talk to."
Her eyes narrowed. "So you're here to threaten me into silence?"
"No," Mark said, finally speaking. "But you dragging cops into the school, trying to get Nicole locked up for something she didn't do… that ain't right."
She backed up slightly. "You're telling me what's right?"
She reached into her pocket. Slowly. Calm.
Nicole felt it.
Mark saw it.
"Don't," he said, voice steady.
She pulled out her phone.
"I'm not scared of you kids. I'm calling someone who'll actually make sure justice is done."
"Put it down," Mark said. Wearing some gloves he found in his jacket pocket
She turned—thumb hovering.
"No one's doing anything stupid here," Jaden warned.
Nicole stepped forward. "Jaden she's calling the cops."
Her thumb tapped the screen.
Click.
Bang.
Everything stopped.
The gunshot rang out like the end of the world.
She dropped.
The smell of gunpowder still hung in the air, thick and bitter.
Nicole hadn't moved.
The room was quiet except for her heartbeat slamming in her ears and the distant hum of traffic outside. She stared at the woman's body sprawled on the floor, eyes open like she died mid-sentence.
She swallowed hard, eyes locked on the blood seeping from the clean hole in her temple, pooling slow and dark beneath Angel's mom's head. Her fingers twitched like maybe this was all a glitch in reality, some hallucination that hadn't worn off yet.
Nicole's chest heaved. "Mark… what the hell—"
Jaden turned on Mark, grabbing his shirt. "Are you crazy? I said no one's doing anything stupid!"
Mark shoved him off. "It was necessary! She was calling the cops, bro! You wanted to go to jail?"
Jaden was already moving. "We don't have time to freak out. If we don't fix this, we're all f*cked."
"She's dead," Nicole whispered.
Jaden grabbed her arm. "Nic—look at me. Don't break now. We gotta think. Not panic. Mark—check her phone. See who she called. If she got anything out."
Mark moved like a machine, pocketing her phone.
"She was gonna call the cops," Mark muttered. "She was bluffing. She didn't even dial yet."
Jaden slammed his fist into the wall.
"Too late now."
Mark's jaw tightened. "We're gonna clean this up right. Make it look like what it needs to."
Mark approached the body and dragged the body by the arms.
Nicole flinched at the thud as her head bumped the hallway wall.
"Help me," Mark barked.
"what the hell are you—?"
"She's going in the tub. We stage it like a suicide. Fast. Help. Me."
Jaden looked up, his voice lower than ever. "You sure about this?"
Mark didn't blink. "You want us all to go to prison?"
Jaden ran both hands through his hair, then followed. "Sh*t. Okay. Okay."
They hauled the body into the bathroom. Nicole finally forced herself to move,
She stumbled into the kitchen, flung open cabinets.
"No, no, no…"
Under the sink—cleaning supplies. Old rags. dish towels.
A half-empty bottle of bleach. Her hands closed around it like instinct. She spun, eyes scanning for anything else. There was vodka on the counter. Unopened. She grabbed that too. Alcohol was alcohol. Maybe it'd work. Back in the living room, she dropped to her knees.
The rag soaked red almost immediately.
Nicole didn't blink. Just pressed harder, dragging the stain into the fabric. The smell of blood mixed with alcohol stung her nose, but she kept going.
Behind her, Jaden walked down the stairs pacing, running a hand through his hair, muttering, "Shit, shit, shit…"
Mark was in the bathroom, filling the tub.
Nicole didn't ask why.
She already knew.
"Stop," Jaden said, crouching beside her. "Let me—"
She jerked away. "Don't touch it."
"Nicole—"
" no one is doing anything stupid. That's what you said, right?" Her voice was flat. Empty. "So this…what is this?"
Jaden's jaw tightened. "This wasn't the plan."
"None of this was the plan!" she snapped, finally looking at him, eyes wild. "You brought me here to talk. You didn't say you'd bring a gun."
They both looked toward the bedroom door.
Running water. Silence.
Nicole's chest heaved, but she turned back to the floor, scrubbing harder. The rag slipped from her fingers.
Jaden reached out again. "We'll handle it. I promise. I won't let this affect you."
She looked up at him slowly. "Already is."
Across the room, Mark stepped out, sleeves rolled, eyes dead. "We put her in the tub. Stage it like suicide. Gun in her hand. Phone nearby. Empty pill bottle on the sink."
Nicole stared.
He looked at her like he was talking about math homework.
Jaden nodded once. No words. Just tired.
Nicole didn't move. swallowed hard, her stomach twisting.
"Then let's finish it."
<<<<<<>>>>>>>
The bathroom door creaked as it opened.
small. Sterile. Tiled. White.
The body was already in the tub. Her arms floated eerily on the surface like she was dreaming underwater. They'd stripped off her bloodied top, then her jeans. Mark arranged her hand around the gun and sprayed a light mist of water over the bathroom sink like she'd tried to clean herself up, maybe panicked before shooting herself.
"She—she wouldn't kill herself like this," Nicole whispered.
"She would if we leave a suicide note," Mark said coldly.
"We're not writing a damn letter," Jaden snapped. "We're not that stupid."
"No note, then. Just pain. Depression. Grief. The whole neighborhood knows Angel is in a coma. She cracked. She's losing it. The pills prove it."
Nicole blinked at him. "What pills?"
He moved fast, across the small room like he knew what he was looking for. Cabinet doors slammed open one after another.
"Every old lady's got pills stashed somewhere. Antidepressants, pain meds—whatever they don't want their kids to know about," he muttered, half to himself, half to them. "Mom used to hide hers behind the cereal."
Nicole watched, stunned, as Mark yanked open another cabinet. And there they were—rows of amber bottles lined up like soldiers behind a stack of canned soup. One tipped over, spilling white pills across the counter.
"Found it," he said, scooping the bottle up with shaking hands.
He yanked it open—rows of orange prescription bottles. One of them spilled onto the counter.
"Antidepressants. Benzos. Shit. She was on enough stuff to put herself under ten times."
He tossed one bottle to Jaden. "Empty a few in her mouth. Enough to raise eyebrows."
Nicole stood by the door watching the crime like she wasn't part of—and couldn't
Jaden poured some into her mouth, took the alcohol from Nicole's hand and poured it sloppily across her lips and blouse.
"Wipe everything," he said to Nicole. "Handles. Floor. Anything we touched."
Nicole's hands trembled as she scrubbed every surface they'd crossed—door handles, light switches, even the coffee table near the front.
"No one says anything," Jaden said flatly. "Not one word. We were never here. Got it?"
Nicole stared at the bedroom doorway. The sound of the water still running in the tub. The gun resting in her hand.
"Got it?" Jaden repeated, harsher.
Nicole nodded, throat tight. eyes flicked to the red light in the corner of the hallway.
"Cameras," she muttered.
"Exactly. There's a camera in the hallway," Jaden muttered, eyes flicking up. "And one outside. We need the DVR."
Mark rubbed his jaw, scanning the house. "Where would she keep it?"
"Not in plain sight," Nicole said. "Check her office?"
They moved fast, quiet, checking rooms.
Mark finally found a small cabinet in the laundry room — behind folded towels and detergent boxes. He yanked it open.
"Found it," he called. "Router, DVR… and a monitor."
He dropped to the floor and flicked on the screen. A grainy live feed popped up.
"Shit, it's all here. Front door, hallway, driveway…"
"Can you wipe it?" Nicole asked.
Mark cracked his knuckles. "Let's see if she ever changed her password."
Mark smirked. "Everyone's grandma uses the same password."
He tapped at the buttons, scrolled through the menu. Admin login.
"Password: 'admin'. Typical."
He navigated to the storage settings, found the timestamp of their arrival.
"Deleting everything from twenty minutes before we showed up until now."
He clicked. The system hesitated. Then beeped. Deleted.
"Now what?" Jaden asked.
"Now I kill the cameras before we step out," Mark said.
He reached behind the DVR and unplugged the camera inputs — not yanked, just unplugged like power failure.
"Footage's gone. Cameras won't record us leaving. But everything else looks untouched."
Nicole stared at the blank monitor. It was like they'd never been here.
"Let's go," Jaden said, yanking the laundry room door open.
Nicole didn't look back.
But she knew—
This was the kind of night that never stopped following you.