I stood pressed between my grandmother’s old fur coat and a row of heavy winter jackets.

Through the crack in the door, I saw the beam of a flashlight cut across the hallway floor.

Rylan had turned off the overhead dining room light.

He was walking into the hall.

“Calla?” he called out.

His voice had shifted back to his warm, husbandly tone.

It was terrifying how quickly he could switch it on.

“Calla, are you home?” he asked.

He walked past the closet door.

I could see the silhouette of his shoulder through the gap.

He was holding his phone in one hand, using the flashlight to peer into the dark living room.

“She isn’t here, Rylan,” Solene called from the dining room. “Her car isn’t in the driveway.”

“I know,” Rylan said. “I just thought I heard something.”

He stood right outside the closet door for three long seconds.

I could hear his breathing.

I pressed my face into the fur coat to muffle the sound of my own breath.

My hands were shaking so much the manila folder slipped slightly in my grip.