It started with the whistles.
Not one.
Not two.
Dozens.
Shrill and ancient, they rose over the horizon like a scream torn from the earth itself—too sharp to be wind.
Too deep to be human.
The sound peeled across the land. Bone-deep. Primordial. Like the ghosts of something older than war calling themselves home.
Sofia was halfway down the staircase when she heard them.
Every instinct in her stilled. Not fear of dying. Fear of knowing.
The Ixchele were no longer waiting.
“Everyone below!” she shouted, voice raw from the smoke already curling under the doors.
“Now!”
The house moved—not with grace. With urgency.
Boots pounded across tile. Chairs scraped. Children cried. Glass trembled in its frames.
Sofia caught sight of Suri rounding the corner from the far hallway—her face blo
