The neighborhood was quiet.

Too quiet.

As Xander pulled the car onto a narrow street lined with faded picket fences and sleepy-looking houses, I pressed my nose to the glass, squinting at the numbers on each door.

"Are you sure this is the place?" I asked, scanning the row of homes. The trees were tall here, casting lazy shadows on the pavement, and the only sound was the wind rustling through their branches.

Xander checked the folded paper in his hand and nodded. “Yes. This is it.”

We parked in front of a small, pale blue house nestled at the end of the cul-de-sac. It was modest, with a garden...