I looked down at my hands and saw they were covered in a sticky, grey residue.

I had touched the frame of the ambulance, or maybe the phone.

The scent of bitter almonds and metallic copper began to rise from my skin.

My phone vibrated in my pocket again.

I pulled it out with shaking fingers.

It was another text from the unknown number.

This time, there was only a short video clip.

It showed the interior of our kitchen cupboard, filmed from a low angle.

A hand in a latex glove was carefully unscrewing the lid of Megan’s prescription bottle.

The video ended just as the gloved hand began pouring a white, powdery substance into the container.

Beneath the video, a final line of text appeared on the screen.

“I wanted to see if you would notice.”

I stared at the screen, my breath catching in my throat as the hospital emergency lights began to flicker.

I dropped my phone on the linoleum floor.

The screen cracked across the center, but the video kept looping.

That was our kitchen.

Those were the blue-and-white plates Megan bought last month.