But she already knew it wouldn’t—couldn’t—be that simple. The town wasn’t large, and based on the glances cast at her during the wake, her presence there had been expected. Even if word of her arrival hadn’t spread, the intruder couldn’t have missed her bright-red hatchback parked in the front lawn.

Whoever had entered her home knew she was here.

Margot turned left, toward the stairs that would carry her to the ground floor. Her sneakers were soft, but every small flex and groan from the aged floorboards carried, magnified by the deep night air. She hung close to the wall, near enough that her shoulder almost brushed against it. She couldn’t shake the sensation that something lingered in the darkness behind her, but every time she turned, her phone’s light only hit the walls, the floors, and her open bedroom door.

Get to the kitchen. Get near an exit.

The labyrinthine house seemed to close in around her, its walls folding toward her and its ceiling sagging under the weight of the shadows. Heavy sounds carried from its depths: sighs and creaks, soft shifting noises that competed with her own labored breathing.

She reached the corner. Breath held, she extended the phone ahead of herself, lighting the passageway.

There was no sign of the stairs that should have been there. Just more hallway, more doors, and more turns.

She looked behind herself. The bedroom broadcast its band of light. The stairs should have been just around the corner from it, but somehow, the house had turned her around.

Focus. Rethink your steps.

Margot slipped around the corner, one hand pressed to the wall to remind herself of its solidness, its stability. She might have misremembered how far away the stairs were. The odds of that seemed more hopeful than the idea of turning back and retracing her steps into a different, darker corner of the home.

She held her tongue between her teeth as she followed the hall. The doors seemed endless. She didn’t try any of them. Lights were set into the ceiling above her, but she hadn’t found any trace of their switch.

Her ears strained to hear any foreign noises in the house. Only, the house itself was foreign. At her old apartment, she’d been able to tell in a heartbeat what was normal for the building and what was out of place. She didn’t have any of that familiarity with the new home, and every sound felt like a warning. Its walls sighed. Its hidden window frames rattled. There were distant noises she couldn’t even place—faint cracks and pops and creaks that left her skin prickling with unease.