The bread box lid sprang open with a gunshot crack. Inside: no bread. Just a folded piece of parchment paper with a single sentence written in rusty brown:
Leo backed toward the kitchen door. The floor tiles were warm now. The linoleum pattern—little brown and yellow squares—began to shift, reorganizing itself into concentric circles. A target. He was standing at the center. The bread box lid sprang open with a gunshot crack
And the jar of dark liquid inside the refrigerator had doubled in volume. The bread box lid sprang open with a gunshot crack