A phone inside his coat pocket suddenly vibrated, its small screen lighting up the dark fabric of his jacket with a bright blue glow.

“Turn it off,” I whispered, my voice trembling in the dark.

Adrian didn’t answer.

He shoved his hand into his coat pocket, smothering the blue light of the phone screen.

The doorknob rattled harder this time, the old brass mechanism grinding against the strike plate.

A heavy shoulder hit the wood, making the entire frame groan.

“Get behind the woodpile,” Adrian whispered, his voice a low, commanding thread in the dark.

I scrambled backward, the rough bark of the pine logs scraping against my palms.

The smell of damp earth, old pine, and dry rot filled my nose.

I pressed my back against the cold, stacked logs, curling my knees toward my chest.

My hand went to my stomach, trying to shield the small bump beneath my winter coat.

The front door didn’t just open; it splintered.

A heavy boot kicked the center panel, sending a shower of wood shards into the room.