When Peter returned home that evening, the atmosphere in his usually pristine house felt inexplicably wrong, as if the air itself had shifted while he was gone.
Small things were slightly out of place—a shifted vase in the hallway, a side gate left completely unlocked. His pulse quickened as deep suspicion finally took hold.
That night, sleep completely escaped him. He lay awake, staring at the ceiling, wondering if he had just invited a terrible threat into his home.
Around 3:00 AM, a harsh metallic squeak pierced the dead silence just outside his bedroom window, forcing him to tiptoe toward the glass with trembling hands.
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