Nicholas
A second text message flashed across my phone screen, lighting up the dark glass with cold, merciless words.
He survived once. He will not survive again.
My blood turned to ice. Every muscle in my body went completely rigid. I stared at the phone screen, my vision tunneling until the bright red circle around my six-year-old son's face burned into my retinas.
Beside me on the checkered blanket, Noah was still fast asleep, his little head resting peacefully on Faith’s lap. He looked tiny, innocent, and completely unaware that a monster was watching him through a camera lens from the nearby trees.
Faith looked up at me, her brown eyes wide with instant worry. "Nicholas? What is it? You look pale."
I forced my hands to stop shaking. I shoved the phone deep into my trouser pocket
