Page 77 of Let Me In

Pull away slow. Controlled.

And I start planning.

I’ll use this time.

This one day she thinks she has to spend inside that house, shrinking herself small enough to survive.

I’ll use it to start neutralizing whatever threat has dared put itself in her orbit.

Whether it came in the form of a black sedan on the ridge road…

Or a goddamn message on her phone.

They won’t reach her.

Not again.

Not while I’m still breathing.

19

EMMY

It’s quieter than usual,which makes it worse.

Because when it’s quiet in this house, it means everyone’s holding their breath. Stepping lightly. Bracing.

My father’s been slamming doors since lunch. Muttering under his breath, then shouting when no one answers fast enough. The TV volume rises with his temper, like he’s trying to drown out his own voice.

Mom tried to keep the peace. She always does.

But I saw her hands trembling when she set her tea down.

And now I’m here, sitting on the edge of my bed, anxiety blooming hard in my chest. My fingers are cold, my stomach twisted in knots, skin prickling like I’m waiting for something to break. Like I already know it will.

Luca rests at my feet. Cleo’s curled up beside me, her little body pressed close like she knows something isn’t right.

I can’t stay here.

Not right now.

Not when everything feels like it might shatter.

So I reach for my phone.

Not to scroll.

Not to run.

Just… to call him.

My thumb hovers over his name for a second. Then I press it.

It rings once.

Twice.

And almost without thinking—like muscle memory—I open the top drawer of my desk. My fingers brush against the small, matte-black tracker nestled beside an old pen and a coil of spare earbuds. I hesitate, just for a breath, then slip it into the pocket of my jeans. No plan. No urgency. Just… something quiet in me deciding it might matter.

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