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“I’ll be fine, Jonah.”

He doesn’t acknowledge what I said. Just keeps going.

“Doors stay locked. Do not go outside for any reason. If something feels wrong, you call. You do not wait. You do not check it out yourself.”

I nod.

Boone appears in the kitchen doorway, arms folded across his chest. “You listen to him.”

“I said I would.”

I don’t like being treated like a child. But I’m also terrified and have no intention of going against their rules.

Finn steps in and brushes a kiss to the top of my head. “We’re back by ten tomorrow, okay? Just keep Mae close and don’t open the door to anyone.”

Mae is still in her pajamas, curled on the couch with her stuffed fox pressed to her chest. She watches the three of them without speaking, but her eyes are on them, flicking from one face to the next.

“I’ll keep her safe,” I say, voice lower this time.

“We know you will,” Jonah says.

Then he steps forward, cups my face in both hands, and tilts my chin until I meet his eyes. He doesn’t kiss me right away. He just stares, like he’s memorizing every detail. Then he leans in and kisses me slowly before whispering, “Don’t wait to call. I don’t care if it’s nothing. I want to hear your voice.”

My throat tightens, and I nod.

Finn moves in next, arms sliding around my waist. He pulls me close until my chest presses against his. “We’ll be back before you know it.” His mouth brushes mine and he sighs like it physically pains him to pull away.

Boone is the last to move. He’s already halfway to the door before he stops and turns back. He hesitates, watching me with an unnerving intensity.

Then, in three long strides, he’s in front of me. His eyes search mine for a moment. Then he leans in, close enough that I can smell the coffee on his breath. “Stay inside,” he says, voice low.

He kisses me hard. Just once. Then he lets go and steps back.

The door clicks behind them, and they’re gone.

At first, everything is fine.

Mae colors at the kitchen table while I sit nearby with a book I’ve been trying to get through for days. She hums as she draws, quiet little sounds. Her silence used to fill entire days, and now she’s making noise on purpose.

Occasionally, she holds up a picture for me to see. I tell her it’s beautiful every time. Because it is. The clock ticks. The sun moves across the floor in slow stripes. Hours pass, and everything is good.

I keep the doors locked. I glance at the windows often, but everything stays still outside. Mae’s content. I’m safe. And it stays that way until just after three.

I hear a sound that startles me.

A crunch of gravel. Then a light brush across the porch, softer than footsteps but too heavy to be wind.

I don’t move at first. Just sit there with my hand frozen on the page and my ears straining to listen.

Mae doesn’t react. She’s focused on her coloring, her tongue caught between her teeth.

Another sound follows. A low thump. Then silence again.

I slide my bookmark into place and stand slowly, careful not to alarm Mae. My eyes flick to the front window. The curtains are drawn, but not completely. There’s just enough space to see the porch.

Something is there.

Not someone. Something. I edge closer, heart thudding harder with each step. I stop at the corner of the window and peer out through the gap. What I see sends chills down my spine.