Adria was tired by the time she got home. School had drained her, and the walk back from the bus stop hadn’t helped either.
The sun was already dipping into the evening, painting the sky in shades of gold and faint purple, and the house looked quieter than usual when she walked in.
She kicked off her shoes at the door, balancing her books in her arms, already thinking of taking another quick shower before Claire could call her down for dinner.
The house felt heavy somehow, like the air itself was pressed down by something invisible, and Adria couldn’t tell if it was her imagination or if something had actually happened while she was gone.
She climbed the stairs slowly, her hand brushing the railing, her mind absent.
That was when she heard it.
A voice—low, sharp, clipped. A man’s voi
