I walked back over to Ridge, feeling unsteady as we stood together, watching Campbell begin directing teams toward their search zones. Volunteers were scattering into groups, clutching maps and flyers. Rich caught my eye briefly, his expression unreadable before he turned away to join his team.

"What are we even supposed to do now?" I asked Ridge quietly, my voice trembling slightly. "They're all out there looking, and we're just... standing here."

Ridge didn't answer immediately. His eyes moved over the crowd, pausing on Campbell as she spoke to a group of volunteers. "We're not just standing here," he said finally, his voice low but steady. "I'm just watching. Trying to see what type of people have come to volunteer." Ridge's jaw tightened, and his eyes didn't leave the crowd. "I'm looking for someone specific," he said, his voice low. "Someone who fits the description of the person following you."

I froze, my stomach twisting. "You think they'd come here? To the search?"

He gave a small shrug, his posture calm, but his gaze was razor-sharp as it swept over the volunteers. "If they're as bold as they were that night, maybe. People like that don't always stay hidden—they like to watch, to be close to the chaos they've caused. This would be the perfect opportunity."

The groups began to disperse in different directions when a familiar voice broke through the noise. "Sam?"

I turned to see Mr. Turner approaching, his face etched with concern. His tweed jacket looked oddly out of place amidst the high-vis vests and weathered coats of the volunteers.

"How are you holding up?" he asked, his voice soft. His gaze flickered to Ridge, and his brow furrowed slightly. "And... who's your friend?"

Before I could answer, Ridge stepped forward smoothly, his arm slipping around my shoulders in an easy, protective gesture. His hand rested lightly, but the message was clear. "I'm Sam's boyfriend," he said, extending his free hand with a polite smile. "Ridge."

Mr. Turner hesitated for the briefest moment before shaking Ridge's hand, his grip firm but not lingering. "Nice to meet you," he said, his tone polite but distant. His eyes flicked back to me, searching. "If there's anything you need, Sam, anything at all, please let me know. We're all here for you."

"Thank you," I said, my voice catching slightly. His voice was soft, almost too soft, and I couldn't shake the feeling that his concern wasn't entirely genuine. My chest tightened as I forced a polite smile.

Mr. Turner gave me a tight smile before nodding to Ridge. "Take care of her," he said, his words clipped but deliberate, as though testing Ridge with each syllable. His eyes lingered on Ridge a moment too long before he turned and walked back toward the other volunteers.

Ridge watched him go, his arm still around my shoulders. "That your teacher?" he asked, his voice low enough that only I could hear. His hand tightened slightly on my shoulder. "He seemed... very interested."

I nodded, trying to shake off the odd feeling Mr. Turner's presence had left behind. "Yeah. He's... a bit weird, isn't he?"

Ridge's grip tightened ever so slightly, his eyes narrowing as he watched Mr. Turner retreat into the crowd. "He seems a little too interested," he said, his voice low.

I glanced up at him, startled. "It's weird. Sometimes he completely ignores me—even in class, when I ask a question—and then other times, he's so involved it's... strange."

Ridge didn't reply immediately, but his jaw tensed, the lines of his face sharpening as though he was piecing something together. Finally, he said, "Let's stick to the plan." His tone was calm but firm as he gently steered me back toward the edge of the square. "We've got enough to worry about without adding nosy teachers to the mix."

Ridge noticed. "You alright?" he asked, his voice quieter now, softer.

"Yeah," I lied, shaking off the weird feeling Mr Turner had left behind.

"What now?" I asked, breaking the silence. My voice sounded smaller than I wanted it to.

Ridge crossed his arms, his gaze fixed on the retreating crowd. "We don't waste time running around in circles. We need to go somewhere that might actually give us answers."

"Like where?" I frowned, not following his train of thought.

"Amber's house," he said firmly, turning to face me. "If there's anything—anything at all—that could give us a lead, it's there."

"I do have a key and Rich will be with the search, should we go now?"

Ridge's eyes met mine, his expression calm but serious. "If you're okay with it, now's the best time. The house will be quiet, and we won't be disturbing anyone."

I hesitated, the weight of the key in my pocket suddenly feeling heavier. Rich and Amber had given it to me when I was twelve, just in case I ever needed to let myself in.

"I'm okay with it, she would want me to," I said finally.

Ridge gave a brief nod, already moving toward the car. "Good. Let's figure this out."

The house was warm when we entered. Rich had the heating set to certain times so it was warm when we got home.

Home. I thought, I'd always thought of here as my own more than my actual home.

"Where should we start?" I asked, wrapping my arms around myself as I followed him toward the stairs.

"Her room," Ridge said simply. "It's the best place to look for anything personal."

I hesitated at the top of the stairs, staring at the door to Amber's bedroom. It was slightly ajar, just as I'd left it. A lump formed in my throat, but I pushed it down and stepped inside. The room was exactly as she'd left it, everything neat and orderly, like she'd just stepped out for a moment and would be back any second. The thought made my chest tighten painfully.

"You check the desk," Ridge said from behind me, his voice calm and steady. "I'll look through the wardrobe and drawers."

I nodded, moving toward the desk. The familiar sight of Amber's notebooks, pens, and a few loose papers scattered neatly across the surface tugged at my chest. I ran my fingers lightly over the worn wood, memories flooding back—late-night study sessions, scribbled notes we'd exchange in class, the little doodles she'd sketch when she was supposed to be doing homework.

The lump in my throat grew as I opened the top drawer. Inside, everything was meticulously organised, just like Amber. A stack of notebooks sat on the left, their spines perfectly aligned, while a collection of pens and pencils were tucked into a small tray on the right. I flipped open the first notebook, half-expecting to find pages filled with her neat handwriting. Instead, it was blank.

"Anything?" Ridge asked from across the room, his voice low but carrying an edge of urgency.

"Not yet," I said, setting the notebook aside and moving to the next one.

This one had writing—pages of it. My heart skipped as I skimmed through, but it was just class notes and to-do lists, nothing unusual or out of place.

As I moved to the bedside table, I hesitated. Swallowing hard, I opened the drawer. It was filled with odds and ends—hair ties, lip balm, a half-empty pack of gum. Nothing stood out until my attention was drawn to a notebook tucked in the corner of Amber's desk. It looked old, the edges of the pages slightly worn. I flipped through it carefully, my breath catching as a piece of paper fell out, fluttering to the floor.

The handwriting here wasn't Amber's. It was jagged and uneven, scrawled across the paper:

"You're mine."

My stomach dropped, my hands shaking as I stared at the words.

"Ridge," I called, my voice trembling.

He was at my side in an instant, his expression darkening as I showed him the paper. "This isn't her handwriting," I said, my voice trembling as Ridge's eyes scanned the paper.

Ridge didn't answer immediately. He turned the paper over, checking the back, but it was blank. His focus shifted to the jagged writing again, his brow furrowing. "This was left for you," Ridge said, his voice firm yet edged with concern.

I glanced toward Amber's bedroom window, my heart racing. Peering through the glass, I scanned the quiet street below. The familiar houses and parked cars offered no answers, no signs of movement. It was just empty. Too empty. My chest tightened as I turned back to Ridge.

Ridge didn't answer right away. His eyes scanned the room, his posture tense. "We're being watched," he said finally, his voice low and dangerous. "And whoever it is, they're leaving us breadcrumbs."

My stomach twisted at his words, the reality of the situation settling in like a lead weight. "Breadcrumbs?" I repeated, my voice barely above a whisper. "What does that even mean?"

"It means they're playing a game," Ridge said, his tone sharp but controlled. His eyes swept over the room, lingering on the window and the slightly ajar door. "Come on, let's go," Ridge said, giving my shoulder a gentle squeeze.

"What about the note?" I asked, hesitating.

"Bring it," he said, leading me out of the room.

As we stepped out of Amber's room, the floor creaked beneath our feet, the sound louder than it should have been in the empty house. I glanced over my shoulder, a chill running down my spine as the shadows seemed to stretch and shift. The house, once so warm and familiar, now felt suffocating.

The car ride back to Ridge's apartment was tense, the air between us thick with unspoken thoughts. I couldn't stop thinking about the note: You're mine. Whoever left it wanted us to find it, and the implications gnawed at me. It wasn't just a warning—it was a threat.

Back at the apartment, Ridge double-checked the locks on the door. His movements were sharp and deliberate, his tension showing in every step.

"We need to talk about this," I said, setting my bag down on the table.

Ridge turned, leaning against the counter with his arms crossed. "Go on."

I hesitated, my fingers fidgeting with the edge of my sleeve. "Whoever left that note was in Amber's room. They didn't just get in—they wanted us to know they could. They're making it clear they're in control."

"They're escalating," Ridge said, his tone clipped. "And they're confident. Too confident."

The weight of his words pressed down on me, heavier than before. If Ridge was right, whoever had written that note wasn't just watching—they were preparing for their next move

I pressed my hands to my temples, trying to push back the rising panic. "We're running out of time, Ridge. If they've got Amber—"

"Sam, it's you. He wants you," Ridge finally said, exasperated.

"What?" I froze, my hands dropping to my sides as I stared at him.

"I didn't want to panic you," Ridge began, his voice softer now, as though trying to steady himself. "But the other night, when you were putting things together, I thought you were right. I shrugged it off because I didn't want to scare you. But I can't ignore it anymore." He rubbed a hand down his face, his frustration clear. "This isn't just about Amber. It's about you. Whoever this is, they've been fixated on you from the start. Amber..." He paused, his voice tight. "Amber's disappearance might've just been a way to get to you."

I stared at him, my heart pounding so loudly I could barely hear my own voice. "What are you saying?" I whispered, as the words struggled to form.

"You said it yourself," Ridge continued, his tone more measured now. "The note wasn't meant for Amber—it was meant for you. They didn't just leave it in her room because it was convenient. They wanted you to find it. And the message? You're mine. It wasn't about Amber—it was about you."

I felt the blood drain from my face as the full weight of his words settled over me. My hands shook as I pressed them into my lap, desperate for something solid to hold onto. "But why?" My voice broke. "Why me? What did I do?"

Ridge's jaw tightened, his eyes dark and unwavering. "That's what we need to figure out," he said grimly.

My head spun with questions, memories flashing through my mind as I tried to piece together anything—any moment or action—that could have made me a target. Had I ever seen someone following me? Had I said or done something to trigger this fixation? No matter how hard I tried, I came up blank.

The silence between us was shattered by the buzz of my phone on the table. I grabbed it quickly, my stomach tightening when I saw Campbell's name.

"Hello?" I said, my voice trembling.

"Sam, it's Campbell," she said, her voice steady but clipped. "You and Ridge need to get back to the square. Something's happened."

"What is it?" I asked, the panic rising in my chest.

"One of the search teams found something in the woods," she replied. "A scarf. Rich thinks it might belong to Amber."