My wife texted me, “Pick me up from work now. It’s urgent.” When she got out, she looked confused to see me. She said, “I never texted you.” I showed her my phone, but we both froze. A new text suddenly popped up. It said:
“Don’t go home.”
My stomach tightened. The number was unknown. Before I could reply, another message appeared.
“They’re already inside.”
My wife grabbed my arm. “What is this?” she whispered.
I tried calling the number, but it went straight to voicemail. Then my phone buzzed again.
“Silver car behind you. Do not stop.”
I checked the mirror. A gray sedan had turned when we turned. My wife’s face went pale. “I’ve seen that car before,” she said quietly. “Outside my office all week.”
Panic crawled up my spine. I drove toward the police station, but halfway there, another text came.
“You can trust Daniel. Nobody else.”
Daniel was my younger brother. Nobody outside the family knew we were meeting him that night.
Suddenly, my wife gasped. “Wait… that number.”
She zoomed in on the contact picture attached to the messages. My blood ran cold.
It was a photo of me sleeping.
Then the final text arrived.
“Hurry. I can’t protect you much longer.”
