I threw the manila folder onto the passenger seat.

My hands were wet with sweat and rain.

I took my phone out of my pocket.

The recording was safe.

I stared at the dashboard, my heart still racing.

I needed to go to the police.

I needed to show them the forged signatures, the original deed, and this recording.

I started the engine, the headlights cutting through the darkness of the street.

As I pulled away from the curb, my phone began to buzz in my hand.

The screen lit up with Rylan’s name.

I stared at it as the phone vibrated against my palm, the incoming call screen flashing in the dark car.

My finger hovered over the red decline button.

Then, a text message popped up at the top of the screen from an unknown number.

It was an image.

I tapped it.

The image was a photo of the inside of my car, taken from the backseat, showing the empty passenger seat just minutes before I had gotten in.

Attached was a single line of text.

*We knew you were here, Calla.*