I briefly thought about waking my seventeen-year-old daughter, Chloe, to explain what was happening, but I quickly dropped the idea.

She was still just a child, and I refused to dump my terrifying burdens on her shoulders.

Instead, I took out my phone and called my sister, Paige.

She answered on the fourth ring, her voice thick with sleep.

“Hannah?

Is everything okay?”

“Everyone’s fine, Paige, nobody’s hurt,” I assured her quickly.

“People don’t call at eleven-thirty at night just to say everyone’s fine,” she said sharply, suddenly wide awake.