under them.
An envelope.
No stamp. No address. Just my name in handwriting I knew too well.
My breath caught.
I looked around the parking lot.
Nothing. A woman loading groceries. A man on his phone. Rain glossing the asphalt silver.
I opened the envelope with suddenly clumsy fingers.
Inside was a single photograph.
It had been taken through the front window of my grandfather’s townhouse at night. In the image, I stood in the sitting room holding Oliver, unaware I was being watched.
On the back, in Paige’s handwriting, were six words.
You still don’t know everything yet.
I stared at the message as rain tapped the roof of the car and Oliver slept behind me, and I understood one final thing.
Saving my son had not ended the story.
It had only exposed how long the story had really been going on.
I started the engine, locked the doors, and drove straight to Mr. Mercer’s office.
This time, I did not waste a single second wondering whether I was overreacting.
