Ortiz nodded slowly. “How do we do that? The house is a total loss.”

I closed the laptop, a dark, terrible plan forming in my mind. “We make him think he missed something.”

Chapter 4: The Bait in the Ashes

Ten days later, I was formally discharged from the hospital.

My arm remained in a heavy sling, and a jagged, angry red scar peeked out from beneath my collar, but I was functional. I played the shattered, dependent daughter flawlessly.

I asked Arthur to drive me back to the property, claiming I desperately needed closure and wanted to search the peripheral ruins for any surviving childhood photo albums.

Dad, terrified I might stumble onto actual evidence or remember something inconvenient, adamantly insisted on accompanying me. “I won’t let you face that trauma alone, El,” he lied smoothly.

We pulled up to the curb of what used to be our lives. The smell of wet, charred wood and melted plastic hung heavy in the suburban air. The majestic colonial house was a blackened, skeletal carcass.