The skin on that tiny foot was red and wrinkled, almost exactly like a newborn’s.
Petty didn’t know much about babies. Ever since she lost hers a year ago, she couldn’t even handle looking at baby photos or videos. Still, she had a feeling this foot looked even smaller than normal.
Why would Franco have a picture of a baby’s foot in his room? Was it his own, from when he was a kid?
She turned the photo over. On the back, there was only one bold, confident word: White. Nothing else.
Petty flipped it back and stared at the little foot again. General came over, shoving his head next to hers, eyes locked on the photo. He let out a low, restless whine.
Outside, the rain had eased a bit. The White Estate was old, with high window sills. Every time the wind picked up, raindrops slapped against the glass, mixing with the whisper of the breeze.
Suddenly, the bedroom door creaked softly, then slammed shut with a bang.
“Woof!”
General spun around and barked at the door, his body tense.
A dark figure stood there, hidden by the shadows just outside the reach of the light.
Petty scrambled up from the floor, one hand on General’s back, the other clutching the photo tight. Her heart was pounding, breath coming short as she stared into the dark.
The lights snapped on.
The word “ghost” almost slipped out, but she bit it back. Still shaking, she stared at Franco. He was watching her, eyes deep and unreadable behind his rimless glasses.
General darted away from her, circling Franco’s legs in a burst of excitement.
Franco’s gaze held hers, a hint of mischief in his look. “Thinking about sleeping in here tonight?”
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