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Iwake to silence. No birdsong. No soft clatter from the kitchen. No giggles from Mae or grumbling from Boone about someone using all the hot water.

This kind of quiet feels strange, but I’m not about to complain. I never get mornings like this. So, I slip out of bed, check on Mae, and head to the kitchen.

After making the coffee and pouring a cup, I step out onto the porch. The air is damp with early dew. I take a sip and breathe in the fresh air.

I turn toward the porch swing and something catches my eye.

It’s an envelope, sitting on the swing.

We have a mailbox so it doesn’t make sense that the mailman would leave a piece of mail on the swing. And no one else comes up here without us knowing. There are cameras now, and motion sensors and alerts that go to our phones.

And, yet, there it is. It was deliberately placed there by someone who somehow managed to slip in and out unnoticed by all the surveillance technology.

I grab it and take a long look.

“Anoush” is written across the front. That’s it. Her legal first name and nothing else. The script is fancy and the paper looks expensive.

Warring urges to tear it open and burn it both pass through my mind. But I don’t do either. Instead, I subtly scan the treeline looking for movement.

I take another sip of my coffee, set the mug on the rail, and finally decide to open it. After all there’s no way I’m giving this to Ani without reading it first.

I carry it back inside, set it on the kitchen table, and make myself wait a minute. I have no idea what I’m waiting for, but it feels right for some reason. As much as I know reading it protects Ani, it still feels like a violation somehow.

A part of me wants to wake the other guys up so they can share this panic with me. But they probably won’t panic anyway. They’ll stay calm. They’ll start planning. And then they’ll make me feel like a child as they completely take over and save the day like action heroes while I sit with my thumb up my ass because I wasn’t trained to be some psycho killing machine.

I wasn’t trained to be much of anything except a firefighter. I was a bit of a wanderer before I settled here. And “here” never felt like home until Ani moved in.

I double check the front door is locked and the shades are drawn. Then I’m back in the kitchen staring at the envelope with my arms crossed.

It’s clearly not a bomb. That’d be bigger, a package probably. Right? Right. It could have some kind of fast-acting nerve agent in it, but that seems like overkill. They want Ani back alive, not dead.

When I finally peel the envelope open, the paper inside slides out easily. It all feels very anticlimactic. It’s just one sheet of thick, white paper, folded cleanly in thirds.

I begin reading…

Anoush—

I know you were scared. I understand how things can spiral when emotions run high.

It’s so fucking polite. I’d almost believe there was actual understanding and concern involved if I didn’t know better.

I understand, truly. But this isn’t how we handle things, Anoush. You’ve had your time. You’ve had your space. But enough is enough. It’s time to come home.

Aaaand, there it is.

I won’t ask again.

I stop, set the letter down, and walk away from the table. Then I walk back.

We know about Mae. Children need consistency and stability. I imagine this has all been very confusing for her. And I know you wouldn’t want to contribute to that confusion.

I press my palm flat to the table and breathe through my nose. Goddamn bastard.

Accidents happen when emotions run high. Mistakes get made when people are under pressure. But you need to come home now.

My hands are shaking now. I have to set the paper down before I rip it in half.

The threat is subtle. But it’s there.