Chapter 28 · Blueprints and Scars

The alarm hit like an air raid, and Willa’s face was already buried in my stomach before my brain could process the dark.

"Okay," I muttered. Not to her. To myself.

"Hands on my belt, honey. Do not let go."

I kicked the breaker room door open with my hip. Out in the service hall, the only light left was the sour green emergency strip over the stairwell—the kind of sickly glow that makes everyone look already dead.

Two floors down, a side door clicked open.

The alarm panel announced it in that calm, mechanical hum it used for everything, right before the siren kicked in again.

Ten minutes ago, I was down here with a penlight between my teeth, flipping a tripped fuse so Willa’s nightlight would stay on. Then the whole estate died. Dropped pitch-black.

Not a blown fuse. Nothing in this house happened by accident.

"Ruth."

Owen came cutting around the landing. Heavy Maglite in his left hand. No shotgun. Which told me everything—he hadn't wasted five seconds going to the gun locker.