The front door clicked shut behind Annabeth Vance. She didn't stop. She ran straight to her bedroom, pulled the door shut, and turned the lock with both hands.
She pressed her ear to the wood. The gold locket around her neck grew cold against her palm. From the hallway came one soft knock — then the clink of a plate being set on the floor. Footsteps walked away. She didn't open the door.
She waited until the house was completely still. Then she crept out of her room and tiptoed down the hall, bare feet silent on the wood. She opened her bedroom window and leaned out.
The cool night air touched her cheeks. Below, two figures sat on the porch steps with mugs in their hands. Their laughter drifted up — a sound she didn't yet know how to answer.
She watched the two men on the porch for a long time. One of them looked up. He raised two fingers in a small, quiet wave.
She didn't wave back. Instead, she pulled the window up just a little higher. The glass clicked against the frame. Downstairs, the porch light clicked on.
She climbed onto the windowsill and sat there in the moonlight. The gold locket rested flat in her open palm. A moth landed on her knee, brushed its wings once, and fluttered away.
She realized she hadn't been holding her breath. She let it out slowly. From downstairs came the sound of a cabinet opening, a pan being set down — her fathers were making dinner.
She placed the gold locket on the windowsill where the moonlight touched it. She let her hands fall into her lap.
The house was quiet except for the hum of the refrigerator downstairs and the soft click of the kitchen light turning off. She sat there, watching the locket glow.
She sat there for a long time. The locket glowed in the dark, steady and bright. Downstairs, a floorboard creaked — just the house settling. She didn't move.
For the first time since she arrived, she stayed.