Novels by Lessy

The house had never felt so alive in its silence. Every creak of the old wood, every faint hum of rain against glass, became amplified in the dark. Eli stood frozen, his back pressed against the edge of the sofa. The faint glow from outside barely reached the living room, carving shadows into strange, unrecognizable shapes. Cole moved first. “Stay here,” he whispered, hand slipping to the holster at his hip. “No,” Damian said quietly. His voice was low, controlled, but Eli could hear the current of tension running under it. “They want us to split up. That’s the game.” Lily’s whisper trembled from the staircase. “There’s someone *in* the house?” “Quiet,” Damian murmured. A floorboard groaned again — this time from deeper down the hall, near the study. Cole raised his gun and took a slow step toward the noise, the faint beam of his flashlight cutting through the dark like a blade. Dust motes shimmered in the narrow light, then disappeared as he turned the corner. Seconds

The house felt heavier in the daylight. Rain had passed sometime before dawn, leaving the world washed-out and gray. Eli sat at the long dining table, elbows on the polished wood, trying not to look at the broken camera that Damian had left there like an accusation. The tiny metal shell gleamed dully, its lens cracked down the middle. It was proof of intrusion—and a reminder that someone had breached the one place Damian swore was safe. Footsteps sounded behind him. Damian entered without a word, shirt sleeves rolled, jaw tight. His presence filled the room before he even spoke. “You moved it,” he said. Eli blinked. “It was—just in the way when I was cleaning.” “I told you not to touch it.” The calm in Damian’s tone was worse than anger. He reached across the table, placed the camera exactly where it had been, and dusted his fingers off as though restoring order. “It’s evidence,” he said. “It’s trash,” Eli murmured. Damian’s eyes lifted—sharp, assessing. “Evidenc

The sound of the deadbolt sliding home should have been comforting. It wasn’t. It just made the house feel like a cage. Lily paced the living room, her bare feet silent on the wood floor, phone in her hand like it might bite. Eli sat on the arm of the couch, eyes fixed on the window, tracking nothing and everything. “What did he say?” Eli asked finally. “He didn’t,” Lily said, still pacing. “Just told me to lock up. He sounded… off.” “Off how?” “Like when he gets that voice,” she said, stopping mid-step. “The one he uses when he’s already in the fight and doesn’t want to tell you about it.” Eli frowned. “That’s not good.” “No,” she agreed, resuming her pacing. “That’s really not good.” The house was quiet except for the tick of the kitchen clock and the occasional creak of the old beams adjusting to the cool morning. It should have felt safe. Instead, every sound felt like a warning. Eli checked his phone again, even though he knew no new messages had come. “Whoeve

Damian left before dawn. Eli heard the front door close somewhere around five, the quiet click of a latch that sounded far louder in a house that had become too quiet. He hadn’t slept. He’d lain awake, every creak of the house a possible threat, every hum of a car outside a reason to sit up and look. When he finally drifted into the kitchen for coffee, Lily was already there, hoodie up, barefoot, staring at the black screen of her phone like she could will it to behave. “He’s gone,” she said without looking up. “Yeah,” Eli said. “I heard.” “He didn’t say where.” “He never does.” That got a small, bitter laugh out of her. “You’re not even pretending to be surprised.” Eli poured coffee into two mugs, handed her one. “Damian’s the type who leaves explanations behind because he thinks they just slow down the next step.” Lily blew on her coffee, eyes still fixed on the dark surface. “What if this next step makes everything worse?” Eli sat opposite her, hands wrapped a

Lily hadn’t slept. She sat cross-legged on her bed, the photo still open on her phone, every detail burned into her brain. The light under her father’s den door had gone out hours ago; Eli’s door remained closed and silent. The whole house felt like a trap. By morning, her phone buzzed again. Same number. You have one hour. No punctuation. No context. No demand attached. She stared at it until her chest hurt. Her first instinct was to delete it, pretend it never happened. Her second was to scream. Instead, she got up, went straight to Eli’s room, and shut the door behind her. Eli sat up instantly, eyes bloodshot. He hadn’t slept either. One look at her face, and he knew. “What happened?” he asked, voice low, urgent. Lily handed him the phone without a word. He read the messages, jaw tightening. “Who the hell—” “I don’t know,” she said, cutting him off, voice sharp with panic. “But they saw. Last night. They saw.” Eli swore under his breath, dragging both hands through his

The knock was light, friendly — the kind of sound that didn’t belong in a room like this. Three heads turned at once. Eli’s stomach flipped; Lily froze mid-breath; Damian moved first, eyes narrowing toward the door. Another knock, a cheerful voice muffled through wood and rain: “Lily? You in there?” Emma. Lily swore under her breath. “She wasn’t supposed to be in town.” “Who is she?” Damian asked, already half-knowing from the way Lily’s face had gone pale. “My best friend,” Lily whispered. “She’ll know something’s wrong the second she sees us like this.” The knock came again, firmer this time. “Hey, I see Lily’s car outside — are you okay?” Eli felt the air in the room change. Not just tense — volatile. They’d held their secret like a flame cupped in both hands; now a sudden breeze threatened to blow it wide open. Damian moved to the door instinctively, then stopped. “What do we do?” he asked quietly, not looking at either of them. Lily’s eyes darted to Eli, to the locked