The last thing Harper Young expected on a Monday evening was silence.

She stood in her foyer, still in her scrubs, grocery bags digging into her forearms. The door shut behind her with a soft click. No bark from Jasper. No thudding footsteps from Jake upstairs. No hum from the dishwasher she’d left running.

The house had gone quiet.

She paused. Listened.

Nothing.

Not even the old refrigerator buzz.

The groceries slid from her hands.

Something’s wrong.

She moved slowly through the house, keys still clenched between her fingers. Her living room was untouched. TV off. Couch blanket folded. Jake’s soccer cleats sat muddy by the door, just as she’d left them.

But the air felt wrong.

Heavy. Expectant.

She reached the staircase and froze.

A faint creak.

From upstairs.

Someone was up there.

“Jake?”

No answer.

She swallowed, picked up a ceramic lamp from the side table. Her heart thudded so hard it was the only thing she could hear.

Step by step, she climbed.

The hallway light was flickering.

Always that damn bulb.

Jake’s bedroom door was half-open.

She nudged it wider.

Empty.

Bed unmade. Backpack dumped on the floor. A game controller blinked red on the desk.

But no Jake.

And no Jasper.

She turned to the guest room.

Door closed.

It was never closed.

She raised the lamp.

Twisted the knob.

The door swung inward with a groan.

Nothing.

Just dust and boxes.

But the window was open.

Curtains billowed inward. The wind whispered something she couldn’t understand.

Then—

A growl.

Behind her.

She spun.

Jasper bolted from the hallway, barking wildly, fur standing on end.

“Jasper! Where’s Jake? Where’s—”

He turned, charged back toward the stairs.

She ran after him.

The power went out.

Everything snapped to black.

Harper gasped.

The only light was the blinking LED on her security panel downstairs.

She followed it. Step by step. Jasper growled low beside her.

The panel flashed red.

“SYSTEM DISARMED – 6:03 PM”

Her breath caught.

She had armed the system at 6:00. She always did. Muscle memory.

Someone had turned it off.

Someone had been inside.

She punched the emergency call button.

Nothing.

Dead.

She fumbled for her phone.

No service.

Then, a sound.

From the kitchen.

A drawer.

Sliding open.

Very, very slowly.

She crept toward the sound, still holding the lamp like a weapon.

The drawer was open. Knife missing.

She turned sharply.

A figure stood in the hallway.

Tall. Still. Face covered.

Knife in hand.

“Where’s my son?” she hissed.

The figure didn’t move.

Didn’t speak.

Then—

A phone rang.

Harper’s.

Buzzing in her pocket.

She never felt it there.

She pulled it out.

Unknown Caller.

She backed away from the figure, thumb trembling as she answered.

“Hello?”

A child’s voice.

“Mom?”

Jake.

“Jake! Where are you?”

“He said not to tell. He said you had to choose.”

“What? Choose what? Jake, talk to me!”

But the call ended.

The screen went black.

The figure was gone.

Only the knife drawer remained open.

Only Jasper barking at a shadow that had vanished.

She locked every door.

Shoved furniture against windows.

But she knew that didn’t matter.

He had been inside. He knew the system. He knew her patterns.

Her mind raced.

Why Jake?

Why this day?

Then she remembered.

The package.

Left on her porch that morning.

She hadn’t ordered anything.

She found it on the counter, where she’d left it. No return label. No name.

Just her address.

She opened it.

Inside was a burner phone.

And a note.

“Your son is alive. For now. Play along. Or he disappears like the others.”

Underneath it: a photo.

Jake. Bound. Blindfolded. Sitting in a room with concrete walls.

Her hands shook so hard the phone nearly fell.

Then it lit up.

One message:

“You have until midnight. Kill the man who hurt your sister. Or Jake dies.”

Harper dropped to her knees.

Her sister.

Lena.

Murdered seven years ago.

Case unsolved. But Harper always suspected one man.

Trevor Voss.

He’d been Lena’s boss. A manipulator. Had an airtight alibi the night Lena was found dead in her apartment. But Harper had seen the bruises before. Heard the voicemails.

But the cops didn’t have enough. And he walked.

Now he lived an hour away.

Private estate. No family.

She hadn’t thought about him in years.

Until now.

Until someone forced her to.

What kind of justice is this?

She stared at the burner phone.

“Tick tock, Doctor. One evil for another.”

9:40 PM.

She drove. Fast. Reckless. Mind fractured.

The gun in her glove compartment had never felt heavier.

She parked two blocks away from the address.

A lone house. Dim light. One car in the drive.

She texted the burner.

“I need proof Jake’s alive.”

Seconds later: a video.

Jake. Shivering. Crying. Still bound.

In the background: a news anchor playing. Tonight’s broadcast.

It was real. Live.

She stepped out of the car. Gun in her coat.

She walked to the door. Rang once.

Trevor opened it.

Older. Thinner. But the same shark eyes.

He stared.

“Harper? Is that you? God, it’s been—”

She pulled the gun.

“Where is my son?”

“What the hell—?”

“Where. Is. Jake.”

He raised his hands. Confused. “I—I don’t know what you’re talking about. Harper, what’s going on?”

She wanted to believe him.

But then his eyes flicked. Past her.

A mistake.

She spun.

Another man. Behind her.

Tall. Masked. Like the one at her house.

She fired.

Once.

Missed.

He lunged.

They struggled.

Trevor screamed. Ran.

The masked man slammed her into the doorframe. The gun clattered.

Jasper.

She thought of Jasper.

She fought like hell.

Scratched. Bit. Kicked.

Finally, a headbutt. He fell back.

She grabbed the gun.

Fired.

Hit.

Blood. He collapsed.

Mask slipped.

Kenny.

Her sister’s ex. Not Trevor. Kenny.

He had vanished after Lena died. Never questioned. Not once.

Trevor ran out, panicked.

Harper stared at Kenny.

Dying. Bleeding.

He smiled.

“Too late.”

Then died.

Her phone buzzed.

The burner.

One message.

“Nicely done. Coordinates sent. Come get your son.”

1:13 AM.

She found the warehouse.

Cold. Dead quiet.

She stepped inside.

Jake was there.

Alone. Tied to a chair.

She ran.

Untied him.

Held him like she’d never let go.

Then she saw the camera.

Blinking red.

A screen next to it.

“Did you do it?”

Harper stared into the lens.

“Yes.”

“Good.”

The screen went black.

Six weeks later.

Harper still couldn’t sleep.

Jake never talked about the man who’d taken him.

Therapists said trauma does that.

But Harper knew.

Someone was watching.

Because sometimes, at night, she heard it.

The drawer. Slowly sliding open.

Jake would be asleep.

Jasper curled at his feet.

And Harper would sit in the dark.

Gun on her lap.

Waiting.

Because the house had gone quiet.

And she didn’t trust silence anymore.