My sister called me at midnight and whispered, “Turn off every light. Go to the attic. Don’t tell your husband.” I thought she was losing her mind — until I looked through the floorboards….

Reeves nodded once. “Prison doesn’t stop organized networks.”

Noah ran into the kitchen then, holding a crayon drawing.

“Mommy, look! I made a dinosaur!”

I forced a smile so he wouldn’t see the terror draining the color from my face.

Daniel Reeves watched him carefully.

Then he said the words that shattered whatever safety I still believed in.

“You and your son need protective surveillance immediately.”

That night, two unmarked FBI vehicles parked across from my house.

Noah thought they were “secret spies.”

I let him believe that.

At 2:13 a.m., my security alarm screamed.

Every light in the house snapped on automatically.

I bolted upright in bed just as a voice shouted outside.

“Backyard movement!”

Men.

Plural.

I grabbed Noah from his room while he cried in confusion.

“Mama, what’s happening?”

“It’s okay,” I lied. “Just stay with me.”

Outside, footsteps pounded through wet grass.