Chapter 23
Sayla
T he bed shifted beneath me, jolting me from a deep, dreamless sleep as Roque slid out of it, his weight disappearing and the mattress rocking gently in his wake. His voice was low, a whisper into his phone, urgent but controlled.
Dog was curled up like a warm stone at the foot of the bed, pinning my legs in place. I blinked into the dark, my heart thudding as my mind caught up. Slowly, carefully, I eased my feet out from under him, sitting up and pushing the hair from my face as I listened.
Roque’s voice trailed off down the hall, and then nothing—just silence.
It felt like I waited for hours, though it couldn’t have been more than fifteen minutes. When he finally returned, the dim glow from the bathroom light silhouetted his broad frame as he moved around the room, pulling on clothes in quick, practiced motions.
“You’re going out?” I asked, my voice still hoarse with sleep.
He nodded, zipping up his jacket. “Something’s happened. I’ve got to go in.”
I was already swinging my legs over the edge of the bed when he turned back to me.
“Can you stay with the kids?” The way he said it wasn’t a question because he already knew the answer.
“Of course.”
Roque stepped closer, resting a hand lightly on my shoulder. “Keep the doors locked and the alarm on. Don’t open up for anyone but me or one of ours, okay?”
There was something in his eyes—tense, sharp, like whatever he’d just heard on the phone had cut through the calm we’d been holding onto.
“Is it bad?”
He hesitated. “I’m not sure yet, but I don’t want to take any chances.”
I nodded, already rising to my feet and walking to the front door with him. “Just be careful.”
He gave me a look—one of those deep, steady ones that made it feel like time paused for a second. “I will.”
Then he leaned in, kissed my forehead, and was gone. The door clicked shut behind him, and I locked it, double-checked it, then reset the alarm as he’d asked.
Whatever was out there tonight, it wasn’t done with us yet. But I wasn’t about to let anything get through that door without a fight.
Whatever had been building finally hit us an hour later.
Kaida had woken up fussing, tugging at my hand until I carried her to the couch. She curled up beside me under a blanket, her head against my side, and asked to watch her favorite movie—something animated and soft with talking animals and way too many musical numbers. Not five minutes in, she was out cold again, breathing slow and steady. But I was wide awake now, nerves humming beneath my skin.
That’s when Kairo came sprinting into the room, eyes wide and full of fear, his little fists clutching the sleeves of his pajama top.
“Monster,” he whispered breathlessly, pointing toward the hallway that led to the back of the house.
Every instinct in me kicked into gear, but I did what any adult does when a child says something terrifying in the middle of the night—I pulled him into my lap and wrapped my arms around him.
“There’s no such thing as monsters, baby,” I whispered, running my fingers through his curls. “You’re safe. It was probably just a shadow or a dream, nothing’s going to hurt you.”
His heartbeat thudded against mine, fast and fluttering, and I kept my voice calm even though my own pulse was picking up speed.
That’s when I saw a shadow passing by the window through the blinds. I froze, breath catching in my throat. It was quick—there and gone—but it was real. It was not a dream or my imagination, someone was out there.
I didn’t move or speak, I just held Kairo a little tighter and slowly shifted so he couldn’t see the window anymore. My eyes stayed locked on it, my ears straining for any sound.
And then it came. A noise—faint, metallic, deliberate—from the other side of the house, like someone was testing a door handle.
My phone lit up on the coffee table.
Ping. Ping. Ping.
The motion detection alerts started rolling in.
Backyard – movement detected.
Side gate – movement detected.
Driveway – movement detected.
My fingers reached for the phone as silently as I could, one arm still wrapped around Kairo. The screen glowed in my palm, showing blurred night-vision stills of dark figures moving just beyond the perimeter lights.
They were here, whoever they were, and I was alone in the house with two kids. My throat went dry at the realization that I was solely responsible for keeping them safe until help arrived. I didn't know what they wanted, but I knew damn well I wasn’t letting them take it.
The sound came again—rattling at the back door, deliberate and testing.
I held my breath, heart pounding, and listened. The locks would hold. Roque had reinforced every entry point after the last scare with deadbolts and internal braces—there was no way someone was getting in quickly. At least, not without a battering ram or making enough noise to wake the entire neighborhood, and I doubted they’d risk that.
Still, I didn’t want to gamble on how far they’d go.
I scooped Kairo into my arms and nudged Kaida gently awake.
“Come on, baby,” I whispered. “We’re gonna play a little game.”
Kaida blinked awake, bleary but calm, curling her fingers around my hoodie as I carried them both through the hall, carefully avoiding the windows. Every creak of the floorboard felt too loud like it echoed through the whole house. My phone was tucked in the waistband of my leggings, and I kept glancing at it, but I didn’t dare make any calls until the kids were safe.
We slipped into Kaida’s room, and I immediately headed for the closet. Roque had shown me the spot one night after we’d stayed up too late talking, long after the kids had fallen asleep. A section of the closet wall looked solid, but with a bit of pressure, the plasterboard panel shifted to reveal a space behind it. Not big, but enough for us.
I pulled the panel open and helped Kairo climb in first. He curled into the corner, hugging his knees. Kaida followed, still a little unsure but trusting me completely.
I crouched beside them, brushing their hair back, lowering my voice to a gentle whisper. “We’re playing hide and seek with Roque. He’s ‘it’ and never finds the best hiders, okay?”
Kaida’s eyes lit up a little. Kairo nodded solemnly, his bottom lip wobbling just a bit.
“You stay here, stay quiet, and no matter what, you don’t come out until Roque or I say so. Understand?”
They both nodded, but Kaida gripped her little dog, her knuckles white.
I kissed each of their foreheads and whispered, “You’re my brave babies,” before gently sliding the plasterboard panel back into place, sealing them in.
Then I turned and crawled back down the hallway toward the kitchen. Every inch made me feel more exposed as I moved carefully and low to the floor.
Once inside, I opened the nearest drawer and almost cursed when I couldn’t find a gun or a bat. But I grabbed what I could—a rolling pin, A long, sharp kitchen knife, and a cast iron skillet that made my arms tremble when I lifted it—but I wasn’t leaving it behind.
Then I backed into the hallway, breathing hard, the weight of everything pressing down on me. But I didn’t let it crush me. The kids were safe, and I had what I needed. I was done being scared. If they came through that wall, they weren’t getting past me.
I pressed the plasterboard panel gently into place, hands trembling just enough to make the edges bump against the frame. One last look at their faces—Kaida blinking up at me with wide, quiet eyes, Kairo clutching her hand like he was the big brother she needed him to be—and then it clicked into place, sealing them into the narrow, hidden space.
It wasn’t much, but it was enough.
They’d be safe there. They had to be.
I stayed crouched just outside the closet, every sense on high alert, listening to the silence around me. The house felt like it was holding its breath, just like I was. Waiting for whatever came next.
Slowly, I reached into the waistband of my leggings and pulled out my phone, tapping the screen to life. The notifications were still rolling in—motion was detected in the side yard, back porch, and front lawn. There were too many.
I opened a new message and started typing with shaking thumbs.
SAYLA: We’re in Kaida’s room behind the panel you showed me. There’s motion everywhere, but the doors are still closed. I don’t know how many.
I hit send just as the worldexploded.
It wasn’t a gunshot or a door being kicked in, it was something bigger.
The whole houseshooklike it had been lifted off the ground and slammed back down again. A deep, gut-rattling boom cracked through the silence, followed by the rattle of windows and the groan of wood straining against its structure.
I dropped flat to the floor instinctively, my body shielding the kids from the panel, heart hammering so hard I could barely breathe.
What the hell was that?
Dust trickled from the ceiling, and tiny tremors echoed through the floorboards.
My phone buzzed in my hand, but I didn’t look at it immediately because something outside had changed.
There were footsteps inside the house. They were coming, and I was out of time. I positioned myself in front of the kids, protecting them with my rolling pin in one hand and the knife in the other.
Like a cruel joke, my phone started vibrating against the floor.
I’d forgotten I’d dropped it to free up my hand for the knife. Now, it buzzed loudly against the floorboards, the sound amplified like a drumbeat in the silence.
Vvvvt. Vvvvt. Vvvvt.
I snatched it up, fumbling to silence the screen before the vibration could echo again, but the damage was already done.
Because now I could hear footsteps getting closer to where we were. Slow, measured, and heavy enough to mean business.
My heart was pounding in my ears as I slid back against the wall beside the closet, gripping the knife tighter in one hand and the rolling pin in the other. The skillet was behind me, too heavy to wield easily, but I’d throw the damn thing if I had to.
The footsteps paused right outside the room. I didn’t breathe, didn’t blink, didn’t even move.
Then came the soft creak of the floorboard in the hallway—the one I knew always gave itself away, no matter how careful you were.
I couldn’t tell if it was one person or more, if they knew exactly where we were, or if they were just searching. But they were close enough now that I could feel it in my gut.
The kids were behind me, and I was all that stood between them and whatever nightmare had just walked in.
My fingers tightened on the handle of the knife.
If they opened that panel, they weren’t walking out of it.