His aunt’s hands trembled too hard to aim the keys. His uncle cursed, then yanked the door wide after grabbing the keys from her hands. The night air felt medicinal. “We’ll come back with police,” he vowed shakily to the empty driveway, not noticing the camera’s tiny indifferent wink.
A pajama hem caught, ripped, and was abandoned. The sedan sputtered awake. As they reversed, Marco let a porch light flare to an accusatory white, then settled it kindly to amber. The street swallowed them. The house exhaled, panels relaxing like bones after sprinting.