“Shauna,” you called, your voice catching in your throat as you stepped into the backyard. She was dragging something heavy wrapped in a large tarp, her cheeks streaked with what looked unmistakably like blood. She didn’t answer you. She didn’t even glance your way.

She just kept dragging.

The hole was already there. Freshly dug in the center of your brand-new lawn, in the middle of this quiet, postcard-perfect suburb where people smiled too hard and kept their secrets behind white fences. You had moved here for peace. For a reset. Away from the whispers in New Jersey. Away from the police showing up at your door. Away from the looks neighbors gave when they saw the way Shauna clung to you like she was afraid someone might steal you with a glance.

You told yourself she would stop. That this new town meant a new version of her. A softer one. A safer one.

But here she was, covered in dirt and blood, grumbling under her breath as she worked like a woman possessed. Her jeans were soaked through with mud, and her shirt clung to her in streaks of sweat and filth. You finally crossed the yard, heart pounding, the air heavy with something metallic and wrong.

You reached for her hands, stopping her mid-shovel. “Shauna,” you said, more breath than voice. She looked up at you slowly, as if coming out of a trance.

Her eyes were the same shade of brown you fell in love with. But now they were unfamiliar. Feral. Like she wasn’t seeing you at all.

You squeezed her hands. She ripped them away and she kept digging.

You blinked, disoriented, and let your eyes fall to the tarp. It had shifted slightly. Just enough, and that was when you saw her face.

Jackie. Jackie Taylor.

Your breath caught. You stumbled backward, covering your mouth with both hands as your chest tightened. “Shauna, what did you do?”

She didn’t stop. She didn’t pause.

When she finally answered, her voice was soft. Almost tender. Like she was trying to calm you down.

“I told you. I’ll do anything to protect what’s ours.”