LAUREN'S POV

I froze, my back hitting the kitchen counter as I took a small step backward. My gaze fell on the stick she was holding, it's wooden edge glistening faintly under the weak light that seeped through the cracked kitchen window. I could see it clearly now… the stick was smeared with dark, half-dried blood. My stomach turned. That wasn’t paint. That was real. Maybe from one of the officers who had stormed in moments ago?

  My eyes drifted back up to her face, and for a moment, I wished I hadn’t looked. Sophia’s expression was a picture of pure hatred, her lips pulled tight, her pupils small and...