POV: Lily Morrison

The car stopped in front of 1247 Elm Street, and my hands started shaking before I could stop them.

"We can turn around," Tony said quietly from the driver's seat. He hadn't taken his eyes off me since we pulled onto this street. "You don't have to do this today. Or ever."

I stared at the house through the windshield. It looked smaller than I remembered. Ordinary. The white paint was peeling near the gutters, and the lawn had grown wild in the eight months since Alex's death. Someone had spray-painted "MURDERER" across the garage door in red letters that had faded to rust-colored streaks.

The For...