My husband cooked dinner—and minutes later, my son and I collapsed on the floor

But I didn’t let go of awareness.

I could still hear.

Marcus’s chair scraped back. His footsteps came closer—slow, careful. He nudged my shoulder with the tip of his shoe.

Testing.

“Perfect,” he whispered.

Perfect for what?

He picked up his phone, walked a few steps away, and spoke in a low, excited voice I’d never heard him use with me.

“They’re out,” Marcus said. “It worked fast. We’ve got all night.”

A woman answered—light, familiar… too familiar.

“Good,” she said. “I’m coming in now. We don’t have much time.”

The front door opened.

High heels clicked across the floor.

My blood went cold.

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