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“Ryder?” His voice sounds panicked.

But I can’t look away from the words—each one scrawled like a twisted promise. He’s been here in my house. It’s confirmed. We need to go. I need to get the fuck out of here. Every part of me is screaming to run.

I swallow hard. “Logan…please, let’s go. Now.”

He takes the paper from my death grip and puts it in his pocket. “Do you need anything before we leave?” he asks,and I barely hear him through my panic. “We’re not coming back until this is all over.”

But I can’t get my mouth to open to respond. My feet feel rooted to the floor, even as my brain is yelling at me to move. All I can think about is how he got in. When he got in. How long he was here. How long he’s been watching.

Shit…is he watching now? Is he in the house now?We need to go.

I finally shake my head in response to Logan’s question because I still can’t get words out. He slides his fingers through mine and pulls me toward the front door. Outside, he reaches into my pocket for my keys and locks the door behind us, even though it feels pointless. He already knows how to get in. What good is a lock now?

He doesn’t say anything else as he guides me to the car and opens the passenger door. I climb in without a word. When he gets behind the wheel, I see his eyes flick obsessively to the rearview mirror as we pull away to see if anyone is following us.

“I think we should go straight to the police station,” he says.

I turn my head, raising an eyebrow, but the words still won’t come.

“They probably won’t do much,” he mutters, his jaw tight with frustration. “But they can at least look at the handwriting. This one feels more threatening. Don’t cops have someone who analyzes stuff like that? Maybe they’ll take it more seriously this time with physical proof.”

I stare out the windshield as Logan takes a turn away from his apartment and toward the station. I’m not sure what the police can do, but I don’t know what else we can do. His coworker still hasn’t been able to find anything yet.

“Yeah, okay. Let’s try,” I say, giving in.

After a few moments of tense silence, his right hand drops from the wheel, reaching across the center console to rest on my thigh. The warmth of his palm seeps through my jeans, and without thinking, I reach down and place my hand over his, holding it there. His grip tightens slightly, just enough to let me know he notices.

We ride in silence until we arrive at the police station, and the nerves that never entirely dissipated come rushing back in full force. I don’t want to be here. At all. It feels like they haven’t taken any of this seriously the last few times Logan updated them. I’m not sure if it’s because I’m a man or because there hasn’t been anything explicitly threatening in the emails, but either way, I always hate how I feel when we talk to the police.

Logan lets out a deep breath, his hand slipping away from my thigh as he parks, and I want to grab it and put it back where it belongs.

“You ready?” he asks, turning to face me.

I nod because I know we have to do this whether I want to or not.

We step out of the car and head toward the station’s entrance. Logan’s hand brushes against my lower back as we walk in, and he leans in to whisper in my ear, “I got you, Ry. Promise.”

Those few words are exactly what I need to hear before we walk in. The officer at the front desk barely looks up as we approach. “Can I help you?”

Logan clears his throat. “We need to report a case of harassment, stalking, and breaking and entering. My friend here has been receiving threatening messages, and we just found a note inside his house. Someone had to have broken into leave it there. We’ve reported multiple other incidents already for this case.”

The officer straightens slightly, his eyes flicking between us. “Alright. Let’s get some more details. Come on back.”

He buzzes us through the metal door, and we walk into the back of the department. The officer leads us into a small meeting room with an old metal table, and it feels like we’re the ones about to be interrogated.

He gestures for us to sit. “You mentioned you’ve already got a case started. Who have you been working with?”

We go over some of the standard details—our names, the officer’s name—who is, of course, not working today—the case number, a brief overview of the past emails, and the note.

“Alright, thanks for getting me up to speed. Since Office Donnelly is off today, I want to introduce you to someone who I think can help. According to your case file, he’s been the one looking into the emails for your case. Give me a moment to get him back here.”

Then he radios for someone named Pearson to come to room three.

A few moments later, the door swings open, and I swear the world stops turning because there’s no fucking way this is happening right now.

There’s no wayKyleis standing in the doorway holding a laptop in one hand and a coffee in the other.

What the fuck?