Julian walked toward the front hallway.

He peered through the narrow glass window next to the door.

“It’s a police cruiser,” he said, his voice tightening.

My heart leaped into my throat.

He turned to look at me, his eyes narrowing to slits.

“Clara,” he said, his voice a low hiss. “What did you do?”

Before I could answer, a loud, heavy knock rattled the thick wood of the front door.

The sound echoed through the quiet house.

It was not the polite chime of the smart system.

It was the hard, demanding knock of authority.

Julian stood frozen by the door, his hand hovering over the lock.

He looked back at me one more time.

“Stay here,” he whispered.

He turned the deadbolt.

The door opened.

The cold wind pushed a spray of rain across the threshold.

Julian stood tall, blocking most of the doorway with his frame.

I stayed in the shadows of the hallway, my hands pressed flat against the cool plaster wall.

“Good evening, officer,” Julian said, his voice instantly shifting into his warm, neighborly tone.