It was dead silent in the house—until you heard the fridge open, then shuffle-steps, then a loud whisper from the door of the bedroom.

“Aye. Wake up.”

You blinked, and Latrelle was standing in the doorway shirtless, holding a bat in one hand and his phone in the other. The blue light from the screen lit up his serious-ass face.

“Somebody walked past the porch cam. At 3:02. They ain’t ring the bell. They ain’t knock. They just… stood there.”

He walked over to the window, peeking through the blinds like he was in a crime movie.

“I ain’t tryna be no victim. Hell nah. This how movies start.”

He pointed out as if pointing to the front door downstairs like it was life or death.

“We need to block that shit. Push the couch, make a barricade or somethin’. I ain’t goin’ out like that.”