The longer the quiet stretched, the more the tension tightened. Around two in the afternoon, as Tommy napped on the couch, Kayla slipped into the kitchen to refill his water bottle. She tried to focus on the simple motion — twist, pour, twist — but her hands were shaking slightly.
Then… A sudden, sharp clack echoed from upstairs — like a heel or a hard object tapping against wood. Kayla froze. Then came the footsteps. Not running. Not scrambling. Slow. Deliberate. Measured. A soft step… then another… then a faint shift of weight, as if someone were trying to walk quietly — but couldn’t hide the heaviness of an adult’s stride.