The villa was quiet again.
Not silent, exactly—just still in a way that made everything feel suspended. Like the house was holding its breath.
Gia moved through the hallway with a laundry basket balanced on her hip. As she passed Leonardo's door, she heard faint murmuring.
She wasn't trying to eavesdrop.
But then a word slipped through.
"Shift."
She paused.
The voice—Ken's—was followed by a soft thud. Then silence.
She kept walking.
Later that afternoon, Gia was folding laundry on the living room couch when Ken walked in, pulling on his hoodie with one hand.
"You good?" he asked.
She nodded, keeping her eyes on the clothes. "You guys working out or something?"
Ken blinked. "Why?"
"You were out of breath earlier."
He shrugged. "Yeah. Just needed to blow off steam."
She didn't press.
But when he reached for the laundry basket, his sleeve lifted.
A deep gash ran down his forearm.
It wasn't bleeding.
She caught a flash of it—reddish, raw—but already healing, right before he tugged his sleeve back down.
She stared. "That looked bad."
Ken glanced at her, then smiled too fast. "Cut myself earlier. Nothing major."
"That was deep."
"Lucky I heal fast."
He left the room before she could say anything else.
That night, Gia tossed and turned in bed.
She kept picturing that wound.
Too clean. Too healed.
And the way Ken had said it—like it wasn't unusual. Like it was normal for a cut to seal itself within hours.
She got up and opened her window for fresh air.
Moonlight spilled into the room.
Across the lawn, near the trees, a shadow moved—tall, broad, pacing. It stopped at the edge of the fence, staring out at the woods.
Ace.
He stood there like a statue, arms at his sides, not moving.
Not even shivering, though the wind had turned icy.
Gia leaned slightly out the window, heart tightening.
What was he watching?
Or waiting for?
She closed the window and sat back on her bed, pulse still fluttering.
They weren't normal.
They never had been.
And now, even the smallest details were starting to show it.
If she kept watching, kept quiet—kept pretending
---
School felt stranger than usual.
Gia couldn't decide if it was because her nerves were fried or if the world around her was just… louder.
Lockers slammed harder. Voices buzzed more sharply. The light in the hallway felt colder.
Or maybe she was just more awake than she'd ever been.
Because once you knew something was off—once your instincts were screaming it—you couldn't un-hear it.
---
She was walking toward chemistry lab when it happened.
A group of boys horsing around down the hall shoved past her—one of them tripped, elbow flailing.
Gia gasped as his arm flew toward her face.
And then—it didn't hit her.
Something yanked her backward, fast.
Not just a step. Not even two.
She stumbled four feet back, almost slamming into a locker.
By the time she caught her breath, she turned and saw Roy.
He stood beside her, hand loosely at his side, looking bored.
"Watch where you walk," he said to the guy, who muttered an apology and kept going.
Gia stared at Roy. "You—pulled me?"
He shrugged. "Didn't want you to get elbowed in the mouth."
"But I didn't even see you there."
He smirked. "I'm quiet."
She didn't smile.
"You were down the stairs a second ago."
Roy didn't respond to that. He just looked at her for a second too long, like he was deciding something.
Then he walked off.
---
Gia didn't go to class. She sat on the bathroom sink in the second-floor girls' room, staring at her reflection.
He was across the building.
How did he get to her that fast?
She replayed it again and again.
The shove. Her stumble. The pressure of fingers at her arm, pulling her like she weighed nothing.
Like instinct.
Like something faster than normal.
Stronger than normal.
---
When she got home that afternoon, Ace was in the backyard, standing alone near the tree line. Arms crossed. Eyes on the distance.
He hadn't changed from his dark shirt. He didn't acknowledge her.
Gia hesitated at the window.
She should stop staring.
She should stop noticing things.
But she couldn't.
Because she knew—he wasn't just watching the woods.
He was guarding something.
And it wasn't the house.
---
It was just after midnight when Gia sat up in bed, heart pounding for no reason.
There hadn't been a noise.
Not a creak. Not a voice. Not even the wind.
Just something invisible tugging at her spine—like her body knew something was wrong before her brain did.
She climbed out of bed quietly and checked the hallway.
Dark.
Still.
But the air felt… thick.
Like something was holding its breath.
---
She walked slowly downstairs. No particular reason. Just the same pressure in her chest, the kind that refused to let her sleep.
As she reached the bottom step, she noticed something on the far wall near the living room arch.
A mark.
She stepped closer.
Three long gouges sliced across the wallpaper—deep enough to curl the edges of the fabric. Fresh.
Like claws.
Gia's breath hitched.
She ran her fingertips across them.
Not fake. Not painted. Torn.
Suddenly, she heard a sound from the hallway—light footsteps.
She turned just in time to see Leonardo stepping out of the downstairs bathroom, hair damp, hoodie half-zipped.
He stopped when he saw her.
They stared at each other for a beat too long.
"You're up late," he said softly.
Gia backed up an inch from the claw marks. "Couldn't sleep."
Leonardo's eyes flicked to the wall, then back to her.
She waited for him to explain it.
He didn't.
Instead, he walked past her and into the kitchen.
Not a word.
Like the marks didn't exist.
Like they hadn't both seen them.
---
Gia returned to her room, locking the door behind her.
She sat on the bed, clutching her notebook like it was armor.
She wrote down a new list:
Claw marks on the wall
Roy moved too fast at school
Ken's wound healed too quickly
Ace never sleeps
They always know when I'm near
She closed the notebook and stared at the ceiling.
She didn't have proof.
Not yet.
But she was done pretending.