“We need that key, no matter the cost,” Terrence said, his voice low and resolute in the dim glow of the bedside lamp.

I let out a brittle laugh, convinced exhaustion had cracked his sanity. Rolling away, I yanked the blankets up, fluffing the pillows into a fortress against the madness. “Steal from Grandma? And when she notices? What excuse do we spin then—‘Sorry, just borrowing it for a midnight grave-digging date’?”

“We’ll improvise,” he murmured, undeterred. “Lies are easier than the truth unraveling us.”

Unease twisted in my gut, but sleep clawed at me, heavy and insistent. “Boy... if that bastard’s still breathing out there, he’ll shatter everything we’ve...