The Prey

We will Go Home, Kitten

My breath caught as I flipped through the documents, my heart pounding like a caged bird. My every breath felt heavier than the last. There they were—snapshots of my life, laid bare in cold, clinical detail. My pictures. My schedules. And then... the ones that made my stomach churn and bile rise in my throat.

Images I didn’t even remember anyone taking.

Me at ten, bathing in the river behind our old house in Texas. The playful innocence frozen in time now felt tainted, wrong.

The words scrawled across each photo in that unmistakable jagged handwriting made my skin crawl:

“We will go...