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Mr. Lay looked at him. “Be careful, David. We will meet you at 120 Brooklyn Street tomorrow at 10 in the morning.”

“I will be there,” David assured them, his eyes lingering on the house until Mr. and Mrs. Lay drove away.

David climbed into the car and his gaze lingered on the last chapter he had ripped from the book in Amelia's room earlier, now clutched tightly in his hand. His eyes scanned the words again, a chill creeping down his spine. His fingers tightened around the paper, a sense of dread settling over him. Slowly, he slipped the page into his coat pocket, started the engine, and drove off into the fading light.