The pale pink bottles looked ordinary.
That was what made them terrifying.
Nothing about the packaging announced danger.
There was no broken seal that I could see.
No warning written across the label.
Just a child’s gift arranged neatly in a silver box.
I thought about Richard saying, Try the cream.
Not the mist.
Not the lip balm.
The cream.
I replayed the moment until I could hear the exact pause before he said it was gentle.
I called Daniel again.
This time he answered.
“We’re here,” he said.
His voice sounded far away.
I could hear movement behind him, shoes on a hard floor, someone giving instructions, Emma crying and then going quiet enough that I panicked.
“Is she okay?”
“They’re treating her.”
“What did they say?”
“They need the box. Don’t touch the jar.”
“I haven’t.”
“Where’s my dad?”
“He left through the back door.”
