My father steps out.
For a moment, my brain refuses to accept it. He looks almost the same as always – tailored coat, posture straight despite the faint sway I now recognise as being down to the drink. Butthere’s something else in the way he scans the street, something urgent and uncontained.
My pulse slams so violently I feel it behind my eyes.
No.
No, no, no.
He shouldn’t know.
He can’t know.
The front door handle rattles.
He doesn’t knock.
He tries the handle.
My throat closes.
I locked it.
Ilockedit. IknowI did.
…Right?
A heavy fist pounds against the wood a second later.
“Lani.”
My name isn’t spoken.
It’s commanded.
Every cell in my body reacts at once. The nest behind me might as well be on fire. My scent spikes, sharp and unstable, fear bleeding into the air without my permission.
The handle rattles again.
Then the pounding stops.
Silence.
For half a second, I think he’s left.
Then the side gate creaks open.
He has a key.
Of course he does.
Gran never changed the locks.
The back door opens with a solid, deliberate click.
My legs move before my brain does, backing me into the hallway, heart pounding so hard it feels like I might be sick.
His footsteps are measured as he enters.