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And then there’s Camille Ross. Talking like she’s known Wren for years. Leaking details she shouldn’t know.

Someone is feeding her. Someone close to Wren.

I line up timestamps. Movement logs. Entry codes. Visitor reports.

Again and again, it circles back to one person.

But I can’t just accuse them. Not without proof. Not if I’m wrong.

I close my eyes and lean back in the chair. No. I need more.

My phone buzzes on the desk.

hey dad. I need your help! I don't know what happened to my fuse box. It’s not coming on :((

I exhale through my nose and type back fast.

Call an electrician, Jen. I’m at work.

Her response comes ten seconds later.

why call an electrician when my dad can fix it

I click my tongue, already shutting my laptop.

Be there in 30.

I grab my car keys.

Another buzz.

can I bother you to help me pick up some groceries on your way? so I can make something nice for us to eat? you're a LIFE SAVERRRRRR. thank you, BEST DAD IN THE WORLD!!!

My mouth curls to a smirk. She still knows how to get to me. Every time.

As I head for the elevator, I pull out my phone again and shoot off a quick text to Wren.

Stepping out. I’ll pick up Eric from school on my way home.

No response. Not even the typing dots.

A few weeks ago, I might’ve dropped by her office just to catch a glimpse of her. Say something dumb. See her smile.

Now?

Now it feels like I’m standing outside a door that’s already been shut.

I swing into the parking lot behind Marketview and grab a cart. Bread. Eggs. Spinach. Kale. Chicken breasts. Jen had a list texted before I even turned off the ignition.

She’s slick like that.

I shove on a face cap and move fast, keeping my head down. It’s still weird being recognized by some people. I get in and out in fifteen minutes.

When I pull up outside Jen’s townhome, she’s waiting in the doorway barefoot, blonde hair in a messy bun and oversized hoodie hanging off one shoulder like it’s the ‘90s again, a spitting image of her mother.

“Wow,” she says, squinting. “You came.”

“You begged,” I remind her, grabbing the groceries from the passenger seat. “Emotionally manipulated to leave my place of work.”