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I scanned the space, and that’s when I saw Adam’s bag.
It sat like a forgotten afterthought on one of the deep brown couches, unzipped, slumped over with its mouth open. His books had spilled out across the cushions and onto the floor below in a scattered mess, lined paper, a frayed notebook, a thick science textbook with a cracked spine. The absurdity of it made me pause.
He had been doing homework.
Homework.
A laugh escaped me, dry and quick and mostly breath. A real smile tugged at my mouth, caught somewhere between disbelief and a bitter fondness. Of course he was doing assignments. Of course. Even after being snatched out of school, whisked into hiding, buried under fear and uncertainty. He was still trying to finish homework in a war zone, like that tether to normalcy was the only thing keeping him from unraveling.
I walked over quietly and crouched beside the couch, reaching for the papers. The pages rustled softly in my hands. He had neat handwriting. He’d tried solving math problems in blue ink, little scribbles in the margins correcting himself, arrows and side-notes and exclamation marks. I gathered them gently, one after the other, sliding them back into the folder and tucking it into the bag.
The zipper rasped as I pulled it shut, high-pitched and slow, like the bag itself was resisting, whining as it closed. I winced. The sound felt too loud in the silence.
From down the hallway, Dominic’s muffled groan leaked through the walls and my breath hitched.
I froze, eyes lifting toward the hallway even though the door was out of sight from where I knelt. Another groan followed, quieter this time but strained, and something about the way it vibrated through the walls hit me straight in the chest.
My body jolted. Tiny, involuntary. A ripple of something I didn’t have a name for. Pain? Fear? Guilt? All of it, maybe. I could picture him there, shirtless, tense, jaw locked, trying not to make a sound but failing as Gael pressed gauze against the wound. I didn’t want to see it, but I could. So clearly. The curve of his spine stiff, the flicker of his fingers clutching the edge of a table, his breathing heavy but controlled. Trying to keep control even while bleeding.
I shut my eyes and stayed still for a second. Let the moment pass.
When I stood, my legs ached. I hadn’t realized I’d been crouching that long. I set the bag neatly at the corner of the couch and turned toward the windows, needing a distraction. Needing air, or the illusion of it.
The drapes were heavy, thick linen with subtle embroidery at the edges, Bella hadn’t changed them in two years. I pushed them apart carefully, the fabric hissing softly as it moved, revealing the dark world outside.
It was late evening now.
Everything out there looked like a painting. The estate stretched far. Past the first few lines of hedges and the short stone wall enclosing the lawn, the trees took over. Dense, wild, reaching high into the night like arms. They didn’t sway. There was no wind. Just stillness.
Tina’s Ferrari sat beneath them, half swallowed by shadow, the crimson paint catching the glow of the lamplights like a dying ember. The driveway curved beyond it and disappeared into black.
Crickets were chirping. There were other sounds too, tiny cracks, maybe squirrels, maybe owls, the occasional rustle in the underbrush, but nothing that felt... human.
I strained my ears.
Just in case.
But there was nothing.
No movement in the treeline. No headlights. No distant murmur of tires on gravel or the subtle crunch of boots on leaves. The compound was still.
Safe, for now.
I let the breath I’d been holding ease out of my lungs and released the drapes, letting them fall softly back into place. They whispered against each other as they met, sealing the outside world away again.
My eyes drifted back across the room, slower this time.
The silence was thick now. Heavier. My heart ticked louder inside my chest as I scanned the living room again, lamplight, scattered pillows, the faint hum of electricity. But still... no Adam. No Isabella.
Where are they?
I lifted my eyes to the TV. It was just as I remembered. Everything was. It was a massive flat screen, probably 75 inches, maybe more, mounted flush against the wall between two sleek dark-wood bookshelves. It took up most of the space, a glowing window in the otherwise dim room. A cartoon was playing—something with bright colors and bubbly voices, too childish to catch the plot but familiar in rhythm. The volume was low, background hum, like someone had forgotten to turn it off.
Isabella.
Of course.
She must’ve put it on for Adam. A comfort thing. Something to distract him from the silence, or maybe from his own thoughts. Or hers.
But they weren’t here now.
The couch was empty. The hallway behind me was silent. And suddenly the soft flicker of the television felt spooky instead of warm. Too loud in the quiet. Too bright in the dark.
I stared at it a long moment, my pulse now thudding more sharply.
Where were they?
They wouldn’t have left the estate.
Would they?
The thought chilled me.
Not because I thought they were in danger: no, not yet, but because I didn’t know.
I didn’t know.
And right now, with Dominic bleeding behind a closed door, Tina barely alive on a bed, and the memory of a man named Vaughn echoing like a threat through every corner of my head... the not-knowing was suddenly too much.
I turned away from the TV, toward the hallway again.
I had to find them.
I had to know.
Because this house was quiet.
Too quiet.
And I had a sick feeling that it wouldn’t stay that way for long. Or maybe I was being too paranoid. I had to be.
Still, my steps were light and wary as I moved down the dim hallway, the kind of quiet that makes your ears ring. The house was large, I must have forgotten how large it had been from being away for too long . The floors beneath me were smooth hardwood, the faint echo of my bare feet lost under the soft thrum of silence. Light pooled in tiny golden puddles from the subtle wall sconces, enough to guide a person without tripping over a corner or brushing against a edge. It made the place feel like a dream, like something carved out of a forgotten memory of peace. Homely, warm, almost too calming.
I turned past the arch leading to the library, then again by the tall potted fig tree that marked the entrance of the conservatory. My fingers briefly skimmed the edge of the intricate molding on the wall as I rounded another corner, this one bringing me closer to where I knew the kitchen sat at the far end of the west wing.
And that was when I smelled it: warm, rich, and familiar. Dinner.
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