Page 16 of Enter if you Dare: Part One

George nods as if he is doing me a favor. “Two is fine.” He walks away without saying thank you.

I collect my bag from the staff room—which is really a tiny room with a corner desk and a broken chair—and leave before he wants something else.

The afternoon has turned gloomy while I was inside, the clouds now sitting lower, as if they are about to give in and let the rain pour down. Pulling my jacket closed, I consider my earphones but leave them in my bag. I made the mistake of not being alert to my surroundings before, and look where that landed me.

I reach the alleyway that saves me time. For the last week, I have taken the long way, but I take a deep breath and decide that I cannot let this affect my life. If I do, then I will always look over my shoulder. My brother always owes someone money, and I’m not new to this life. If they can’t get to him, they will come after me. It’s how the world is.

Scooping my keys out of my bag, I position them in my hand to use as a weapon. Then, keeping my pace steady and remaining alert to my surroundings, I don’t stop until I turn into my street.

It hits me straight away—something is off.

I look around, but there’s no one in sight. Maybe I’m imagining it, so I don’t speed up. I continue walking and don’t look back.

At my mental count of fifteen, I reach the crossing, and there I turn my head each way to check for traffic, letting my eyes carefully sweep the street.

Mrs. Mills is pushing her baby stroller. It’s now empty, as she used to push her dog Daisy in it, but the pup died last year, and the poor woman has not been the same. Two men in hi-vis vests are sitting on milk crates eating, and a teenager is nearby with headphones on and absorbed in his phone.

Nothing appears out of the ordinary, so I keep walking but can’t shake the feeling of being watched.

I slip between the old bakery and flower store, neither of which is open, and press my back to the brick wall. I breathe as I watch the people go about their day. A man in a knitted sweater walks past, and I watch him as he strolls along, his hands pushed into his pockets. As he gets to a letterbox, he stops and pulls out his phone. After he types something, he puts his phone away and keeps walking, then turns into a gate three doors down.

I exhale a sigh of relief, then hurry faster until I can see my house, running up to the front door and slipping the key into the lock. I fling myself inside and close it, pressing my back to the wood as I try to calm myself.

Someone is in my house. I can feel it.

It’s probably just my brother, but my gut says otherwise.

I look down and see straw, just a few pieces near my feet, then as I look up I see a trail of it leading from the front door to the kitchen.

Shit.

I tiptoe toward the kitchen, knowing it’s for sure not my brother. The kitchen light is on, and as I peek around the doorway, it highlights the figures before me. Cipher is on the floor in front of my fridge, and the bottom panel is off and sitting beside him on a folded cloth. Both of his hands are inside the gap, and he has a small flashlight held between his teeth.

Cave is seated at my kitchen table, but he is so tall that he looks strange sitting at such a small table. It’s almost funny, except this is Cave and nothing about him screams funny. He has a piece of paper in one hand, and he looks up at me the second I walk into the kitchen. His amber eyes find mine, and he places the paper down on the table and stares at me.

Noa is leaning against the counter with a mug and a smile. “You’re back,” he says warmly.

I blink in confusion. Why are they here in my house? I can’t lie and say I’m not intrigued. It’s a better surprise than finding my brother here.

“Your fridge was making a noise,” Noa says, setting the mug on the counter, and he proceeds to emit a sound a person could not describe in words. “Like that.”

I peer down at Cipher, who has removed the flashlight from his mouth and set it down beside him. “Fan motor. The bearing is going. Probably would have failed by the end of the week.”

“Okay . . .” I say.

“The door seal is also compromised, and the temperature inside is inconsistent. Anything you are storing in there could go bad until it’s fixed.”

“Right,” I reply, because telling him the seal has been broken for well over a year is probably not what he wants to hear, or that I have been unable to afford to fix it. “But that doesn’t explain why you’re all inside my house.”

Noa straightens up, pushing off the counter. “Well, we all came here together, which was an experience. Cipher tried to pull my cassette player right out of the dash. I like 80s music, but him, not so much. Then the big man got mad because I slapped Cipher’s hand.”

“Noa . . . I’m asking how you got inside my house.”

Noa opens his mouth and closes it as he glances at Cipher, who answers me. “The lock on your front door is a single-cylinder deadbolt, which was installed incorrectly. Anyone with a basic lock-picking set or a credit card and thirty seconds could get inside.”

“But we had tools,” Noa adds.

“I can see that.”