She saw me emerge from the shadows behind her.

I pressed a finger to my lips, begging her with my eyes to stay silent.

Chloe gave a tiny, trembling nod, her shoulders shaking.

I crept down the two steps onto the level of the stage floor.

My heart hammered against my ribs like a trapped bird.

The smell of the gasoline was overwhelming, bringing back the heat of the night the old house burned.

My palms began to sweat, and my breath caught in my throat as the old memories threatened to paralyze me.

I forced myself to look away from the dark puddle on the floor.

I reached Chloe’s side and knelt behind the iron pipe.

Her wrists were bound tight to the metal with thick, white plastic zip-ties.

I reached into my pocket and pulled out my small utility knife.

“He’s stalling, Mother!” Chloe tried to scream, but it came out as a muffled, desperate grunt.

Beatrice did not turn; she was too focused on the glowing phone in Liam’s hand.

“Shut up, Chloe,” Beatrice snapped without looking back.