The house settled into a heavy, oppressive silence as the clock struck midnight. Outside, the wind rattled the windowpanes of the master bedroom, mimicking the scratching sounds from the movies Sarah had spent the afternoon watching. The room smelled of stale vanilla. Elara had taken an hour ago.

Elara lay on the far left side of the king-sized bed, her body a motionless ridge beneath the heavy duvet. She was out cold, her breathing a slow, rhythmic drone that filled the gaps in the silence. Caleb lay on the right, his muscles coiled, his skin humming with a restless energy. Between them, Sarah looked like a fragile porcelain doll, her small frame swallowed by the vastness of the mattress. She wore a thin, white cotton nightdress that clung to her hips and left her legs bare.