The day after the attack dawned bright and deceptively calm. The sun streamed through the curtains, brushing the walls with warmth that felt almost unnatural after the darkness of the previous night. Yet even in that golden light, I could feel the residue of fear lingering in the corners of the house, like smoke that refused to clear.
I sat at the kitchen table with my coffee, the cup trembling slightly in my hands. Lucian was upstairs, inspecting the girls’ rooms and reinforcing locks, a silent sentinel ensuring that no shadow could ever reach us again. My father sat across from me, silent, rubbing his hands together as though trying to will himself steady. The weight of what had happened pressed down on all of us, heavy and almost suffocating.
“You okay?” I asked softly, breaking the s
