Sleep barely came. When it did, it was shallow and fleeting, like the surface of a pond disturbed by the wind. I found myself waking every hour, every tiny sound pulling me back to consciousness with a start. This time, it was something outside—a soft rustling, too faint to make out. I lay there, heart racing in the stillness, my mind immediately jumping to the worst-case scenario.
Was it them? Were they coming for us?
I slipped out of bed, the wooden floor cold beneath my bare feet. The house was dark, except for the moonlight filtering through the window. I moved quietly, careful not to wake Alice, who was curled up in the corner of the bed, her breathing soft and steady.
I crept to the window, drawing the curtain back just enough to peek outside. There was nothing. Just trees swaying
