I looked at each member of the Prescott family.
Margaret.
Ethan.
Brandon.
Perfect clothes.
Perfect smiles.
Perfect confidence.
The kind of confidence people develop when they’ve spent their lives believing rules apply to everyone else.
Behind me, Emily’s hand gripped my sleeve.
She was terrified.
That told me everything I needed to know.
Not because fear proves a claim.
But because I knew my daughter.
Emily was not dramatic.
She was not reckless.
And she certainly wasn’t the kind of person who would call me in tears unless she genuinely believed she was in danger.
