“Go,” his aunt whispered finally, voice frayed wire. “We can’t stay. They’ll come up next.” His uncle swallowed, calculating ancestral pride against mortality. Another vented whisper: “Upstairs.” Marco let the kitchen door lock exhale once more. He heard drawers slam, suitcases scraped from under a guest bed.
They burst onto the landing, clumsy with haste. The cat disappeared into the darkness, offended but intact. Marco dimmed the foyer to a dusky threat, then highlighted the exit with a single persuasive beam. The front lock was, of course, reset. Marco waited for the couple to open it from inside.