Mark shifted slightly, peering through the leaves toward the house. I followed his gaze.
Headlights slid across our driveway.
A dark sedan pulled up and stopped right in front of our home.
For a moment, nothing happened.
Then the driver’s door opened.
A man stepped out.
Even in the dim light, I recognized him instantly.
My stomach dropped.
It was my brother—Ethan.
“What is he doing here?” I whispered.
Mark didn’t respond.
Ethan walked up to the front door calmly, like it was any normal visit. But instead of knocking, he reached into his jacket…
…and pulled out a key.
My blood went cold.
He unlocked the door and walked inside.
I turned to Mark, my voice shaking. “You gave him a key?”
“No,” he said quietly.
We watched as the door closed behind Ethan. Seconds later, the living room lights flicked on.
Then Mark leaned closer and whispered something that made my fear explode into panic.
“That’s not the reason we’re hiding.”
I stared at him. “What do you mean?”
“He called me tonight,” Mark said under his breath. “About an hour ago.”
My pulse quickened. “Why?”
“He was drunk.”
That part wasn’t new. Ethan had been spiraling since he lost his job. But something in Mark’s tone made my stomach twist.