THE HOUSE ON ALDER STREET

Prologue:
It was raining the night Sophie Langdon died.

Camille Cross remembered the storm like it had branded itself into her bones-the flash of lightning on the living room wall, the muddy water swallowing the sidewalk, the sound of sirens howling louder than the thunder. She remembered running, barefoot and breathless, to the end of Alder Street, screaming her brother's name.

Jacob had been seventeen. She was fifteen.

The whole town remembered the trial. The whispers. The newspaper headlines. The photo of Sophie's lifeless body found in the Cross family basement.

Camille hadn't spoken Jacob's name in years.

Until now.