— Sophia’s POVI didn’t move at first.Couldn’t.It felt like if I took one step, the air might break.Ethan was still standing there, eyes fixed on the glass… but not really on the glass. Somewhere beyond it. Like he could still see whoever had been there.The security light outside kept flickering. It wasn’t windy.That bothered me.I tried to breathe quiet, but my heartbeat made my chest shake.“Ethan…”He didn’t answer.I hated that look.Like he knew exactly what this was and didn’t want me to.Or… couldn’t say it out loud.Finally, he walked over to the patio door. His fingers touched the glass near one of the handprints. He didn’t even flinch at the cold.The prints looked worse up close. You could see the smears, the way the skin had pressed so hard the oils made deeper streaks. And they were high up. Higher than Ethan’s shoulder.“What are you,”“Shh.” His voice was low, sharp.I shut my mouth.Somewhere upstairs, Irene’s footsteps moved slow across the floor. he wasn't pacin
—Sophia's POV The night felt… wrong.Not just quiet, wrong.Like something had been stolen from the air, and the space it left behind made your skin itch.I couldn’t sleep. I’d been staring at the ceiling for… I don’t know… maybe hours. Maybe minutes. My sense of time had been shredded tonight.Ethan was beside me.Still.Too still.One of those moments when you can hear the rhythm of someone’s breathing and tell exactly what kind of sleep they’re in.This wasn’t deep. Wasn’t peaceful. It was the kind of sleep where the body’s resting but the mind… the mind’s somewhere dangerous.I thought about waking him.But then, A sound.Not from inside the room.From downstairs.I froze. Not the movie kind of freeze where you’re brave and calculating… No. The ugly, real kind where your chest feels trapped and your brain is screaming what was that? what was that?Footsteps.Slow.Dragging.For a second, I wondered if it was Irene. He’d been restless lately. Sleepwalking once, maybe twice. Eth
—Ethan’s POVToday, I didn't feel like taking anything. I don’t remember deciding not to. Just… every time my hand got near a cabinet, it felt like it wasn’t mine.Sophia stayed on the couch. Her knees up. Mug in both hands, empty, but she kept sipping at it anyway.Irene sat on the floor with his back to the coffee table. He was humming again, low, head tilted like he was listening for something under the floor.The three handprints in the doorway, I’d been avoiding them. But you can only not-look for so long before you notice you’re doing it.They were darker now. Not dust-dark. Wet-dark. Like the wood had been drinking something and hadn’t finished swallowing.I caught Soph staring.She didn’t blink when she whispered, “They’re deeper.”I looked again. She wasn’t wrong. The prints had sunk into the frame. Not on the surface. In it.I wanted to measure them against Irene’s hands. Just to be sure. But I didn’t ask.The hum in the table pulsed in my legs. My knees kept bouncing with
— Ethan’s POVWe stayed under the warm bright light. Not because we decided.Because we didn’t… move.Soph was still on the couch. Same place she’d been when I closed my eyes for what couldn’t have been more than a minute. Her sweater was twisted at the hem, like she’d been wringing it without realizing.Irene was curled on his side between us. Mouth open. Little, shallow breaths. His hair damp at the edges from sweat.The handprint was still there.I didn’t look at it long. I couldn’t. The size was wrong. The fingers too thin. Like they’d been made from wire wrapped in skin.Soph saw me look. She shook her head. Not “no.” Just… don’t.The house was holding its breath. I could feel it in my ears. That press. That weight.When the sound came, it wasn’t from the walls this time.It was from inside the coffee table.A soft… creak. Then another. Like something shifting its weight in there.I leaned forward, slow, pressing my palm against the wood grain.It was warm.The hum started, not
— Ethan’s POVWe stayed.Because moving felt like stepping into something’s open mouth.The morning wasn’t a morning.It was just… less dark.Soph was at the sink, rinsing a mug she hadn’t used. Her hair clung to the back of her neck like it was holding on for dear life.Irene sat at the table, knees up, bowl between them, eating cereal like he was somewhere else.Not watching the milk.Watching the air.The red circle in the doorway, still there. Fainter now, like dust pretending to be nothing. But every time I blinked, I thought I saw it breathing.The house… yeah, it was too quiet again. But not empty-quiet. Full-quiet. The kind where something’s already inside.Soph didn’t look at me when she said,“We could leave.”I stared at the circle.“Leave where?”She didn’t answer. She didn’t need to. We both knew there wasn’t anywhere that didn’t lead back to here.Irene dropped his spoon.The metal clink was too loud.We all froze.And then, soft. Not even a knock.More like… fingertips
— Ethan’s POVWe stayed.Even though my skin felt too tight. Even though the air in the house had weight to it, like breathing soup.Sophia was still holding the envelope when morning tried to happen. Tried, because the light that came in wasn’t the kind that wakes you. It was thin, gray. Sickly. Like it’d been traveling too long to get here.I was at the kitchen table. Not eating. Not drinking.Just… sitting. One knee bouncing, fingers drumming on the wood like maybe it’d keep me tethered.The envelope sat in the middle.It didn’t look like much now. Just paper. But my eyes kept going to it like gravity was playing favorites.Soph came in barefoot. Hair tangled, oversized sweater sliding off one shoulder. She didn’t speak. Didn’t have to.Her eyes were red. Not from crying, she hadn’t cried. More like she hadn’t slept right in a decade.Irene padded in behind her. Blanket cape again. His bear now missing one ear. I didn’t remember that happening.He didn’t look at the envelope. Or ma