Chapter 1
"The weather in Seattle’s pretty grim, but don’t worry, Vivian. I’ll be back in a week."
I leaned against the bedroom doorframe, watching Silvan Thorne pack a coat into his suitcase.
Our three-year-old daughter, Lily, was fast asleep in the next room.
He walked over and pressed a warm kiss to my forehead.
Suddenly, his fingers brushed against my jaw, tilting my face up.
"Your phone's been buzzing a lot tonight," he murmured.
His eyes locked onto mine with a quiet intensity.
"You didn't turn your location off again, did you? You know I hate it when I can't check on you and Lily."
"I haven't touched them," I lied, keeping my voice level.
Silvan stared at me for one more agonizing second, before his face relaxed into his handsome smile.
"That's my girl."
"Silvan, just text me when you land." I forced a smile.
The front door clicked shut. The house fell silent.
I went straight to Lily’s room, tucking her pink blanket around her small shoulders.
Looking at her innocent face, my resolve hardened.
If Silvan was destroying our daughter's home, I was going to find out.
The wall clock ticked to 9:45 p.m.
Silvan had been acting distant lately, taking hushed calls late into the night in the backyard.
And his business trips had doubled.
I had avoided a confrontation for Lily's sake.
For his birthday last week, I gave him a pair of AirPods.
What he didn't know was that I'd linked them to my phone.
10:00 p.m. I sat on the couch, unlocked my phone, and opened Find My.
I just wanted to verify that he was at the airport.
But Silvan’s red dot wasn’t moving toward the highway.
It had stopped at the northernmost edge, which was an undeveloped area.
I zoomed in on the satellite map.
Blackwood Lumber Yard.
It was an industrial zone that had been abandoned for ten years.
Why would Silvan be out there in the middle of the night?
Was he meeting his mistress? Or was it something worse?
I dialed his number.
An automated voice answered: "The number you have dialed is powered off."
Panic and anger flared in my chest.
I grabbed my car keys, and ran out into the rainy night.
The wipers slapped frantically against the windshield.
My high beams cut through the pitch-black backroads.
Twenty minutes later, I turned down a muddy dirt road.
Up ahead, there was no sign of Silvan's car.
What I found instead was a sea of flashing red and blue lights.
Three cruisers were parked outside the rusted iron gates of the abandoned factory.
Yellow crime scene tape whipped violently in the wind.
Officers in rain gear swept flashlights through the tall weeds.
I slammed on the brakes. The tires skidded through the mud.
A woman in a black windbreaker turned around.
The harsh beam of her flashlight hit me right in the eyes. I blocked it with my arm.
"This is a restricted area, ma'am. Back your vehicle out immediately." Her voice was sharp.
I shoved the car door open, the rain instantly soaking my hair.
"My husband might be here. My phone says he's here."
The woman paused. She clicked off her flashlight and walked up to my car.
In the red glow of my taillights, I caught sight of the badge pinned to her chest: Detective Cross.
"What's your husband's name?" She looked me up and down.
"Silvan. Silvan Thorne." I swallowed hard.
Detective Cross didn't answer right away.
She turned her head, looking deep into the factory lot toward an area lit up by heavy floodlights.
Two forensic investigators were crouching on the ground.
"Mrs. Thorne, you'd better come with me."