Page 82 of Let Me In

And Emmy?

She keeps close to the center. Stays in the open.

Like I asked her to.

Good girl.

I adjust the scope again.

Not because I need to.

Because I can’t not.

My eyes flick to the edge of the trailhead, then to the road that winds just beyond the fence line. It’s visible from here in slivers—through scrub pine and fading winter grass. An old service road, barely used.

And that’s when I see it.

Movement.

A glint of glass where there shouldn’t be any.

I go still.

Scope to eye. Focus narrowing.

And there it is.

The car.

Same one.

Black. Tinted. Crawling slowly behind the treeline like it thinks it can sneak.

No plates.

No hurry.

Like it’s watching.

My fingers curl around the rifle. The one I wasn’t sure I’d ever pull out again. The one I kept locked away in the basement because I thought maybe, just maybe, I was done needing it.

Turns out, I’m not.

Because in this moment?

I could make the shot.

One pull.

Clean.

Done.

But I don’t move.

Becauseshe’s right there.

Too close.

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