Then I step back and wipe my face and look in the mirror. I’m a mess.

Hanna stands behind me, the two of us looking at our reflections, and says, “I think it’s gone too far, Jess.”

I picture the man standing in the street, how he didn’t care who saw, how he knew that it was the perfect time to announce himself to my world. I was alone with an audience of thousands.

He could have broken my window any night of the week. He could have done it before Danny and Michael left. He could have done it when I wasn’t there.

But he didn’t. He knew exactly when I was home alone, and that terrifies me.

What if a neighbor had come out? He wouldn’t have escaped a street full of saviors.

But maybe he was being careful the night Emily and Hanna stayed over. Maybe he wanted to see if anyone on my road was watching, and once he knew they weren’t, he hurled his latest warning through my window.

Chapter 51

Usually when I get home, Nan is making a cup of tea, the kettle just boiled as if she can hear me from the end of the street. But not today. Today, she’s yelling at my dad.

“…and you can’t even be bothered to fix it! It should be boarded up at the very least. I’ll do it if you won’t.”

“Hey,” I say.

Nan turns and says, “Jessica. We didn’t hear you come in.”

“I’m not surprised. What’s happening?”

Nan looks at my dad, who quickly glances at me before staring at the floor.

“Nothing, darling,” she says. “I was talking to your father about the window.”

She doesn’t ask what happened. Even my nan—who doesn’t have Wi-Fi and calls it the “interweb”—even she knows why there’s broken glass all over my bedroom floor.

“I’ll fix it now,” Dad mumbles, and we watch him go into the garage and come back with some wood and a hammer.

Before Mom died, Dad loved building things. Not only computers but little bits of magic. Now the garage is full of pieces of wood, but when I was a kid, that wood was transformed into toys and castles and bookshelves and anything you could imagine.

Nan goes to the kitchen to make the tea, and when I follow, she asks if I’m okay. I nod and think about hugging her. But I’m worried I’ll cry again, so I keep my distance.

“I’m fine,” I lie.

If I think about it, I feel terrified, because he knows where I live, whoever he is.

I force myself to smile and say, “I won’t let some idiot ruin my chi.”

She hugs me. “Your mom would be proud of you.”