The grand Mercer estate stood tall on the hill, its windows glowing with warm, deceptive light.

It looked like a postcard of suburban success.

But inside, the foundation had completely crumbled.

We reached the main gate, which was slowly swinging open.

As we pulled out onto the dark county road, my dashboard screen lit up.

The GPS map flickered violently.

A small red icon appeared in the upper corner of the screen, flashing twice.

Then, the car’s Bluetooth system gave a short, high-pitched beep.

“What was that?” I asked, keeping my eyes on the wet asphalt ahead.

Aaron reached for the dashboard, his brow furrowed.

He tapped the screen, but it did not respond to his touch.

“It’s an override,” he muttered.

“An external diagnostic pull.”

He reached into his pocket and pulled out his own phone.

The screen of his device was black, but it was vibrating continuously in his hand.

“Grace,” he said, his voice dropping to a low, cautious whisper.

“Turn off your phone.”

“Why?” I asked, my heart hammering against my ribs.

“They aren’t just following us,” he said, looking back through the rear window into the darkness.