The family froze, the garden lights casting long, jagged shadows across the unmasked intruder. Police sirens wailed closer, cutting through the stunned silence like knives. Theo's ex-best friend—Dave Vauxhall—stood there, hood thrown back, a ghost from a buried past. His face was harder now, scarred across one cheek, eyes burning with a madness that twisted recognition into nightmare.
Dave's gaze locked on Amara, possessive, unblinking. "Game's just starting, Goodwill." His voice was gravel, laced with venom. Then, with a mocking salute to Theo, he vanished into the night, swallowed by the estate's labyrinthine hedges just as floodlights snapped on and security converged.
Chaos erupted. Adrian roared into his radio, "Seal the perimeter! Helicopters!" Kiss clutched Princess, face ashen. Elias stammered, "That's... that's impossible. Dave's been dead. Car crash, fifteen years ago!"
