Evelyn was vigilant about security. Growing up in a bad neighborhood does that to you; she locked the door even when taking out the trash.
I stepped into the foyer. The house was silent, but it wasn’t a peaceful silence. It was the heavy, pressurized stillness that comes right before a storm breaks. The air felt charged, vibrating with a tension I could taste on my tongue.
I walked softly down the hallway, the cake box dampening in my grip.
