Upstairs, a hallway light flickered alive, steady, then dark again. She wrung her hands. “Draft in the switchboard.” He nodded sharply, as though naming an ailment cured it. They resumed sipping tea louder, trying to be brave. From his car, Marco smirked, programming another faint sigh of doors settling open, then shut.
The cat padded across the counter, tail bushed. She hissed once, then vanished into shadow. “Animals sense storms,” his aunt whispered, unsettled. “Or mice,” he countered, though his eyes tracked the darkness uneasily. Arrogance battled primal nerves. Marco queued the stereo: a gentle rustle, like bags shifting downstairs.