My sister called me at midnight and whispered, “Turn off every light. Go to the attic. Don’t tell your husband.” I thought she was losing her mind — until I looked through the floorboards….

The stranger gave a quiet laugh. “You chose well.”

Caleb didn’t smile.

“That wasn’t part of the plan,” he said.

For a moment, I almost heard regret in his voice.

Then he added, “But the kid complicates things.”

My vision blurred.

Noah. Our four-year-old son, asleep miles away at Caleb’s parents’ house—or so I thought.

The stranger said, “Your parents are already moving him.”

I bit down on my knuckle so hard I tasted blood.

Caleb nodded. “Good. Once we cross into Canada, everything resets.”

The phone in my hand vibrated. I nearly screamed. A message from Mara appeared.

FBI and local police are two minutes out. Stay hidden. Do not make noise. Noah is safe. We intercepted him.

I shut my eyes as tears streamed down my face.