Page 99 of Let Me In

A little younger. Fewer scars. But the eyes are the same.

James Trent.

Mercenary. Freelance. No loyalties. No rules. Just payment and damage.

And the fact that he came here?

Means someone’s trying to stir something long buried.

My fingers curl against the edge of the desk. I sit in the quiet.

The photo of Trent still spread on the desk. The edges curl slightly under my fingertips, cool and sharp. My gut tightens, a slow coil of something old and bitter rising in my chest—recognition, maybe. Or fury. Or both. A half-written message glowing on the burner. Plans beginning to form, slow and cold.

But first—

Her.

I promised I’d check in.

I press her name on the screen. It rings once, twice, then connects.

I expect her voice.

I expect softness. Maybe tiredness. Maybe a nervous laugh.

But instead…

I hear him.

My spine goes straight, a bolt of cold running down it as every muscle tightens. Like instinct hitting bone-deep before thought can catch up.

“—You think shutting yourself in there is gonna make me stop? Your time is limited here. Leechingmyfood,mymoney.”

A crash. A door slamming. Something breaking.

“Should have never let you come back. Dead weight—”

There’s a shuffle. A voice in the background—her mother, maybe. Trying to calm him. Trying to stop it.

But the yelling doesn’t.

“You think that man’s gonna stick around once he figures out what you really are? A mess. A problem. A goddamn burden.”

My jaw clenches. My fingers curl into a fist before I even register it, the breath stuck tight in my throat.

I speak her name.

Twice.

No answer.

Just the sound of her silence behind his rage.

I hang up.

Silence.

Thick and ringing. Like the world is holding its breath. My own heartbeat pounds, slow and punishing, in my ears—like a war drum sounding the next step before I even take it.

---