“Someone broke into my house last night,” I confess, my phone trapped between my ear and shoulder. The spoon clinks in the ceramic mug as I stir my coffee. I’m on my second cup, and it still feels like I have dumbbells for eyes, and my lids are in a losing weightlifting battle. After the creep left last night, I couldn’t fall back asleep, so I went through the entire house, confirming all the windows were locked. Finding that they were unsettled me more. Every single door and window had been locked before and after they left. So how the fuck did they get in and out? “Hold on, you said what? Someone broke into your house?” Daya shrieks. “Yep,” I say. “They left a red rose on my countertop.” Silence. Never thought I’d see the day Daya Pierson is speechless. “That’s not all that happened, though. Just the worst of it in the grand scheme of last night’s fuckery, I suppose.” “What else happened?” she asks sharply. “Well, Greyson is an asshole. He was in the middle of trying to locate a mysterious hole in my neck with his tongue when someone pounded on my front door. And I mean, like hard. We went and looked, and no one was there. I’m assuming it was my new friend that did it.” “Are you fucking serious?” I go on to explain the rest. Greyson’s douchery—I got hung up on complaining about that just a bit. Then his fist going into my wall and his dramatic exit. I don’t mention the safe and the diaries I found, or what I read in them. I haven’t