Chapter 1
My aunt shoved a folded piece of paper against my chest so hard that I stumbled backward into the staircase.
"STOP LYING TO US!"
Her voice echoed through our house.
I stared at her, completely confused.
"Aunt Nia, what are you talking about?"
She pointed directly at my face.
"You know exactly what I'm talking about, Jordan!"
I shook my head.
"I don't!"
My mother rushed forward and grabbed her arm.
"Nia! Stop!"
But my aunt wouldn't listen.
She was trembling with anger, her shoulder-length locs swinging as she turned toward Mom.
"Claire, your son has been lying to this entire family!"
My stomach dropped.
For three days, our house had felt wrong.
Mom barely slept.
Dad kept checking the security cameras.
And Aunt Nia had suddenly arrived from Charlotte without explaining why.
Now she stood in our living room accusing me of something I didn't understand.
"What did I supposedly do?" I demanded.
She pointed toward the paper.
"You left this warning!"
I looked down.
The paper was folded twice.
Its edges were wrinkled.
I recognized it immediately.
I'd found it lying on the wooden staircase fifteen minutes earlier.
But I hadn't written it.
Before I could explain, my father stormed into the room.
"What's going on?"
Marcus Carter wasn't a man who frightened easily.
He was tall, muscular, and usually calm.
But when he saw Aunt Nia pointing at me, his expression hardened.
"Why are you yelling at my son?"
Nia turned toward him.
"Because somebody in this house is hiding something!"
Dad stepped between us.
"Then tell me what happened."
She held out the paper.
He snatched it from her hand.
I immediately spoke.
"Dad, I swear I didn't write it."
He looked at me.
"Write what?"
Aunt Nia crossed her arms.
"Read it."
Dad unfolded the note.
His expression changed.
I watched his eyes move across the handwritten words.
Then he slowly turned the paper toward me.
HE IS LYING.
Three words.
Written in thick black ink.
No name.
No explanation.
Just an accusation.
Dad looked directly at me.
"Who left this?"
I shook my head.
"I don't know."
"Jordan."
"Dad, I'm telling you the truth!"
My voice cracked.
"It was already on the stairs."
He studied my face.
I could see him trying to decide whether to believe me.
That hurt more than Aunt Nia's shouting.
My father had always trusted me.
Even when I made mistakes.
Even when I got suspended for fighting in ninth grade.
He always listened before judging.
But now something in his eyes had changed.
"Where exactly did you find it?"
I pointed toward the fifth step.
"Right there."
Mom suddenly whispered something.
We all turned.
"What?" Dad asked.
Her hands were shaking.
"Nobody else is supposed to be upstairs."
The room fell silent.
I looked toward the staircase.
Mom's bedroom was at the end of the hallway.
My room was across from it.
The guest bedroom belonged to Aunt Nia whenever she visited.
But nobody had gone upstairs since breakfast.
At least, nobody was supposed to have gone upstairs.
Then I heard it.
Creeeak.
A floorboard.
From above us.
My blood turned cold.
Dad slowly lifted his head.
"Who's up there?"
Nobody answered.
Aunt Nia stepped closer to Mom.
"What was that?"
Mom swallowed.
"I don't know."
Dad started toward the stairs.
I grabbed his arm.
"Dad."
He looked down.
"Let go, Jordan."
I tightened my grip.
"Please don't go up there."
His expression sharpened.
"Why?"
My heart hammered.
I hadn't wanted to tell him.
Not because I'd done anything wrong.
Because I was afraid he wouldn't believe me.
Three nights earlier, I'd heard footsteps outside my bedroom.
When I opened my door, I saw a figure moving toward Mom's room.
The person wore a dark jacket.
Their face was hidden.
I'd assumed it was Dad.
But Dad had been away on a business trip that night.
And Mom later insisted nobody had entered her bedroom.
I hadn't slept properly since.
Now Dad was staring at me.
"Jordan, answer me."
I looked toward Mom.
She had gone completely pale.
Then I whispered the words I'd been holding inside for days.
"Because I saw someone go into Mom's room."
My aunt gasped.
Dad froze.
"What?"
I swallowed.
"Three nights ago."
Mom grabbed the back of the sofa.
Her knees seemed to weaken.
"Jordan..."
I stared at her.
"Mom, I saw somebody."
Dad looked from me to Claire.
"Who?"
"I couldn't see their face."
He turned toward the staircase again.
Then another floorboard creaked.
This time, louder.
Aunt Nia whispered, "Marcus, don't."
Dad ignored her.
He placed one foot on the staircase.
Then another.
I followed two steps behind him.
My heart felt like it was trying to break through my chest.
The hallway above us was bright with afternoon sunlight.
Everything looked normal.
The framed family photographs.
The white bedroom doors.
The long cream-colored runner.
Then Mom's bedroom door moved.
Slowly.
At first, only an inch.
Then wider.
There was no wind.
No open window.
Nothing that could explain it.
Dad stopped climbing.
My mother made a strangled sound.
Aunt Nia backed away.
I stared at the doorway.
Someone was standing just beyond the light.
I couldn't see their face.
But I could see the edge of a dark jacket.
The same kind I'd seen three nights earlier.
Aunt Nia's voice trembled.
"Then who wrote the note?"
I opened my mouth.
May you like
But before I could answer, the figure moved.
And I realized the person upstairs had been listening to us the entire time.
