“It’s Arthur’s vehicle,” Marcus said. “But he’s not driving it.”

A loud explosion shook the floor beneath our feet.

The shockwave threw us against the wall.

The windows of the bedroom shattered, showering us in glass.

Outside, the snow-covered driveway was illuminated by a massive orange fireball from the garage.

I looked out the broken window.

Through the smoke and the falling snow, a single vehicle was speeding down the mountain road, its taillights disappearing into the whiteout.

My phone buzzed in my hand.

An incoming message from an unknown number appeared on the screen.

I tapped the screen with a trembling finger.

The screen flickered, the bright light casting a blue glare over the dark, dusty bedroom.

I swiped the glass with my thumb, my skin leaving a smear of ash on the display.

It was a video file, only five seconds long.

I tapped play.

The footage was shaky, shot from the interior of a moving vehicle.

In the backseat, Sophie and Grace were huddled together, their small faces pale under the green glow of the dashboard lights.