Her name was Signe, and she was crying so hard she could barely hand it over.

Inside were copies of everything: the lease on the townhouse, the photographs of the messages, the logs.

And a letter, folded once, addressed to me in my wife’s handwriting.

Julius — I am not trying to blow your family apart.

I am trying to get our daughter and your father out of a house where none of us are safe anymore.

I told you last night that I was afraid and you told me to wait.

I am not going to wait.

I hope you make it home before they realize how much I know.

Whatever happens, believe Bryn.

She sees everything.