The air smelled like stale coffee and something metallic—like an old drawer no one had opened in years. He moved quietly, but urgency burned through his feet.
“Emma? Grace?” he called softly.
No answer.
Then he heard it—a small, precise click down the hall.
A lock.
He reached the girls’ bedroom door. Tried the handle.
Locked.
“Natalie?” His voice came out lower than he meant.
The study door opened. Natalie stepped out in a pale robe, wearing the smile that used to calm him.
“Babe,” she said lightly. “What are you doing home? You scared me.”
Ethan didn’t move.
“Why is their door locked?”
Her smile faltered—just for half a second. Enough.
“Oh… they had a cough. I didn’t want them wandering the hall. You know—rest.”
Ethan leaned down, pressed his ear to the door.
A muffled sob.
Something in him ignited.
“Open it.”
Natalie lifted her chin. “Don’t talk to me like that.”
Ethan looked at her with a calm that wasn’t calm at all.
“Open. The door. Now.”
She pulled the key from her pocket slowly, theatrically, like she was doing him a favor. The lock turned.
The door swung open.