Rose's POV:
I hurried home in my miserable car, with my miserable mood. Could today have gotten any worse? Absolutely not. This was a worst-case scenario that people mentally prepare for but never actually expect to go through. My luck, however, was extra special.
Once I made it back, I tossed my keys into the bowl by the door, only to notice a note placed neatly on the table near the entrance. Jake's handwriting.
'Out late. Left money in the kitchen for pizza.'
Seriously? Was he going to start treating me like a child now?
Then again…free pizza. If being babied meant free food, then fine, I was happy to be a child.
Crumpling the note, I threw it into the bin and was halfway up the stairs when a noise from the kitchen made me freeze.
I ignored it at first, brushing it off as a draft—until I heard it again. This time, it was unmistakable.
The microwave beeped.
Wind couldn't turn on a microwave.
My stomach twisted. I turned slowly, heart hammering, and tiptoed toward the kitchen. The fridge door was wide open, someone rummaging through it, obscured from view.
Could be Jake.
Or worse—a squatter. I'd heard small towns had an unusual number of them.
Or even worse—a serial killer.
Or, worst of all… Dracken.
And knowing my luck today, that wasn't even a long shot. The guy was like a cockroach—impossible to squash and always showing up where he wasn't wanted.
I snatched a knife from the counter, gripping it tightly. If I was lucky, maybe it was Dracken, and I could stab him in self-defense.
Relax, I'm kidding. I'm not a psychopath.
…But if I was one, he'd be the first on my list.
Narrowing my eyes, I inched closer to the fridge and, summoning the full force of my early teen taekwondo lessons, slammed the door shut with a vicious kick.
A high-pitched shriek echoed through the kitchen.
Oh, so Dracken screams like a girl. Noted.
But when the person emerged, clutching their head, my stomach dropped.
Fiery, indignant eyes met mine.