Inherited by the sinner.

Natalie POV

Ashgrove mornings smell like pine, coffee, and trouble.

Today, trouble got there first.

I cracked two eggs into the skillet and checked the window for the third time. The tree line was dark and still. Too still. No birds. No wind. Just pines packed thick enough to hide anything.

"Amelia," I called. "Five minutes."

"I'm choosing my socks."

"You're stalling."

"Same thing."

I flipped the eggs. The kitchen was small and warm, steam fogging the glass. Coffee sat on the left side of the counter, Amelia's vitamins waited by the sink, and a knife was taped beneath the counter.

That knife wasn't mine. It had been there when we moved in. I'd never asked who put it there, and I'd never taken it down, either.

Amelia appeared in the doorway with one shoe on and her backpack hanging off one shoulder.

"Eggs," I said.

"I wanted pancakes."

"Pancakes are for people who wake up on time."

She huffed and climbed onto the chair. I set the plate in front of her and sat across the table with my coffee. This was our rhythm: coffee and eggs, shoes and backpacks, small rules that kept the day from falling apart.

"Did you sleep?" she asked.

"Some."

"You checked the door twice last night."

I looked at her.

She shrugged. "I heard you."

She was five. She shouldn't notice things like that, but she did. She'd been noticing since the day she was born. The first time I held her, she stared up at me with those dark eyes, and I could have sworn she already knew more than she should.

I'd checked the front door twice before bed, again when I got up for water, and once more before sunrise. Amelia had heard all three.

"You don't have to check," she said.

"Yes, I do."

"Why?"

"Because I love you."

"That doesn't answer the question."

"It answers it enough."

She gave me a look that said she didn't believe me, then went back to her eggs.

Outside, two women crossed the path with laundry baskets while a guard leaned against the eastern fence, watching the tree line as though he expected it to move. Mrs. Danner stepped out of her house, saw me through the window, and immediately went back inside.

Third time this week.

I told myself it was nothing. Ashgrove was small, and people stared. The pack had rules about who belonged and who didn't, and I'd never quite fit either box.

But that look wasn't gossip.

It was fear.

The guard turned his head and looked at our house. Not at the yard or the window, but at the house itself, directly at the wall where the safe-room door was hidden on the other side.

I stepped back from the window. My hands were steady, but my pulse wasn't.

"Nat."

Amelia's voice snapped from the hallway, and I was moving before my brain caught up.

She stood in front of the safe-room door.

The closet that wasn't a closet.

Same paint. Same brass knob. Same innocent little rectangle cut into the wall. Only the frame was too thick, and the air around it was too cold.

"It's open," she whispered.

My stomach dropped.

The door was cracked half an inch, just enough to reveal the darkness inside.

"Did you open it?" I asked.

"No."

I always kept it locked. Always.

I reached for the knob. It was cold, not from the morning shade but as if someone had held it for too long. I pulled the door shut, and the latch clicked into place.

I checked it again.

It was held.

I made Amelia stand behind me while I examined the frame. There were no scratches, no pry marks, and no sign of force. Someone had opened it with a key or the code, or they'd been inside the house long enough to learn the latch the way I had.

I didn't know which possibility scared me more.

"Go get your bag," I said.

"Why?"

"We're leaving early."

"Where are we going?"

"Just get your bag."

She stared at me for a beat too long, then ran.

I checked the lock again, followed by the back door and the front. Everything was fine. The doors were locked, the windows were closed, and the house looked exactly as I'd left it.

But someone had been inside the safe room.

And they wanted me to know.

I grabbed Amelia's inhaler off the counter, her jacket off the hook, and my keys off the table. I didn't pack or plan. I just moved.

The alarm hit before I reached the kitchen.

A shriek of metal tore through the house like a blade.

Amelia screamed.

I ran.