1 nced up, spotting an elderly couple shuffling in, hand in hand, their faces tight with worry.


    The desk officer was about to stand when I beat him to it. “Mr. Yule, Mrs. Yule.”


    They turned toward me, startled. Mrs. Yule’s face lit up, a brief flicker of joy breaking through the


    tension.” Narelle…” she started,


    “She’s not Narelle,” Mr. Yule cut in gently, pulling her back. His tone was steady, but the heartbreak


    in his eyes was unmistakable.


    Mrs. Yule’s joy shattered instantly, reced by a deep sadness that made my chest ache. I stepped


    closer, trying to ground them. “Mr. Yule, Mrs. Yule, what’s going on? Are you here to file a report?”


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    I had stolen the officer’s line, but he stepped in professionally anyway. “If you’re here to report


    something, please


    follow me.”


    But they didn’t move. Instead, Mr. Yule started exining, “For the past few days, someone’s been


    banging on our door, yelling that if we don’t behave, they’ll hurt us badly.”


    The words hit like a p, and I stole a nce at the officer, who was already frowning, “Do you


    recognize the person? Any conflicts or grudges?” he asked.


    Both shook their heads. Mr. Yule let out a heavy sigh. “We’ve never seen them before.”


    “How long has this been happening?” the officer pressed.


    “Three, maybe four days,” Mr. Yule answered, ncing at his wife for confirmation.


    She nodded quickly, her voice trembling as she pleaded, “Officer, please, you have to help us.”


    The officer’s tone softened. “We will. But I need you to give me as much detail as you can.” He


    gestured toward a nearby room. “Come with me.”


    Mr. Yule hesitated, looking back at me like he wanted to say something. His lips moved, but no


    words came out.


    For some reason, the look in his eyes tugged at something in me. “Go on with the officer. I’ll finish


    up here ande find you soon,” I said, trying to sound reassuring.


    “Alright, alright,” he replied quickly, his voice softening, though it was clear he wanted me there.


    The officer led them to another room, handing off their case to a colleague. I hurried to wrap up my


    paperwork, then made my way to the Yules‘ meeting room.


    By the time I arrived, they’d finished telling their story, repeating over and over that they had no idea


    who was threatening them.


    “Did this person say anything specific?” the officer asked. “Were they asking for money or


    something else?”


    Mr. Yule nodded, his expression dark. “They demanded money. They said, ‘You can’t spend it


    anyway. When you die, it’ll just go to someone else, so why not give it to me?”


    The moment I heard that, it clicked this wasn’t random. Whoever was behind this knew them well.


    Too well.


    “Have you shown any signs of wealth recently?” the officer pressed.


    Mr. Yule shook his head. “After our daughter’s ident, we cut ties with everyone–friends, family.


    We’ve barely left the house,”


    “What about any unusual interactions? Strangers, workers, anyone new?” The officer’s questions


    came steadily, methodical.


    Eventually, he asked about their home security. They admitted their surveince system had been


    broken for a month.


    A busted camera system and days of harassment? This wasn’t just bad luck. It was calcted.


    “We’ve got everything you’ve reported,” the officer said. “We’ll assign someone to monitor your


    home. If this person shows up again, we’ll catch them. For now, go about your daily routine as


    normally as possible.”


    The Yules were escorted out, but their fear clung to them like shadows. I followed after, unable to


    leave it at that.


    “Let me take you home,” I offered.