The knock was soft, but it hit the room like a thunderclap.
Everyone in the kitchen went still.
Danielle lowered her coffee. Emory turned toward the hallway. Christina didn’t move, but her breath caught somewhere behind her ribs. Mr. Reed rose from his seat without a word.
Connor tilted his head, squaring his shoulders and moving between Danielle and the exit. “That’s not the mail.”
Christina, still holding her muffin, looked around the room. “Who are we expecting?”
“No one,” Emory said, already moving.
Danielle stood up too, instincts prickling. Seth fell in beside her. The sudden stillness in the air felt like the moment before a thunderstorm broke—quiet, thick, expectant.
Mr. Reed opened the door.
Rose stood on the porch.
She didn’t look dramatic or out of place. Just jeans, a
