The sky was a dark, bruised purple, thick with the promise of freezing rain.

I shivered violently, pulling my father’s oversized olive-drab army jacket tighter around my shoulders.

We climbed into the front seat of his heavy black pickup truck.

He started the engine, the V8 motor roaring to life in the damp air.

As we backed out of the space, my phone buzzed in my coat pocket.

My hands shook so hard I almost dropped the screen on the floor mat.

It was a text message from Ethan.

*Hannah, where are you?* the text read.

*My mother says the police are at the suburban house.*

I stared at the screen, my throat tight.

“Don’t answer him, Hannah,” my father said, keeping his eyes locked on the wet road ahead.

“He is trying to gauge how much we have told the detectives.”

Another text message popped up immediately beneath the first.

*Did you give them that recording?*

*Hannah, answer me. You are going to ruin this family.*

A sick feeling washed over me, cold and heavy.

He wasn’t asking if I was okay.