“The camera feed shows a deputy’s vehicle turning onto the gravel road,” the user wrote. “They are coming, Clara. Hold on.”

Julian reached into his pocket and pulled out a small pocket knife, the blade clicking open with a sharp, metallic sound.

“Give me the phone, Clara,” he said again, his voice deadly quiet. “Or we do this the hard way.”

I pressed my back against the pantry shelf.

The metal wires dug into my spine.

I held the phone high, the screen facing him.

A new notification flashed.

It was a live-stream link from the community.

The camera icon was blinking red.

“Look at the screen, Julian,” I said.

My voice was barely a whisper, but it sounded loud in the cramped space.

The blue light of the phone screen reflected off the silver blade of his knife.

“I don’t care about your internet friends, Clara,” he said.

He took a slow step forward, his leather shoe crunching on a dry leaf that had blown in through the back door earlier.

“They are watching you,” I said.