Page 110

"Outside," I say.

A pause opens between us. “How far outside?"

I push through palmetto, thorns catching my sleeve. "East cut. I'm coming back."

Ezra says my name in the background, blurred and thin.

Pepper's breath sharpens. "Why are you at the east cut?"

"Hammer texted. The feed glitched." I almost trip over a root and catch myself against a pine trunk. Bark bites into my palm. "I thought the old landing was the threat, but it was bait. Pepper, check the monitor. Check the other feeds."

"I'm in the bathroom."

My blood turns cold. “Why?"

"Ezra woke up cold." Her voice tightens around the words. "His hand went through the water glass. He said it sounds like scraping is coming from under the ground."

I run harder. “Where is he?"

"With me. Bathroom floor. I tried the shower, but it’s not working.” There’s a shuffle and Ezra’s weak voice, strange and distant, before Pepper returns. “He says it isn't the dock either. He says it's higher up. Dry ground."

Dry ground. I map the property in my mind. Higher ground from the east cut is the charity section near the maintenance shed. Out there, by the live oak, are forgotten plots lost to time. It’s a place I check less often because no one has reason to go there. Except Hammer knew I would leave the wrong side exposed.

"Don’t go outside."

"Theo." Her voice cuts sharper. "Come home."

I deserve every edge in her voice. “I'm coming."

Ezra's voice drifts through the phone, strained and reedy. "If I disappear in a bathroom drain, I'm haunting the pipes."

Pepper makes a sound that might be a laugh if it weren’t so close to breaking. "You’re not haunting any plumbing tonight."

The line crackles. The house is too far and too close at once. I can picture it with brutal detail: Pepper kneeling on tile in my shirt, hair falling out of its scarf, one hand on Ezra and one hand reaching for water. Ezra pale, furious, making jokes while his body leaves him.

I left them there. I did this after I promised I would control my fear.

"I should have woken you," I say.

"Yes," Pepper answers. It isn’t cruel, only factual, and that makes it hurt worse.

I cross the last line of stones and hit the cemetery path. The house appears through the trees, yellow light spilling from our bedroom window.

Pepper speaks again, quieter. "He's still with me."

The fear deepens instead of easing. The back door stands open.

I take the steps two at a time and stop in the kitchen doorway. Nothing looks out of place. I sweep downstairs, frantic, but it is empty of intruders.

When I make it to them, Pepper sits on the floor beside the bathtub, soaked to the elbows. Ezra sits in the bathtub with his knees drawn up, one arm under water and the other clutched in Pepper's hand. Water runs over him from the shower and splashes against him. His fingers are visible, but the edges blur.

Pepper looks up at me. Her scent fills the bathroom, rosemary and vanilla threaded with alarm, fierce enough to cut through the wet-metal smell of the sink and the mud on my boots. She holds Ezra, her expression scared and furious.

Ezra's eyes find mine. "Bad news. Our water bill is going to be a fortune.”

The joke can’t hide the tremor in his voice.

I step forward.