The Cameron house is too quiet again. It's the kind of quiet that makes the air feel heavy, like the walls are holding their breath. I'm in the living room, small against the huge white couch, with my stuffed bunny tucked under one arm. The TV plays cartoons—bright colors and silly voices—but I keep looking toward the hallway.

The hallway is long and a little dark, even in the middle of the day. The door to Dad's office is open just a crack. I don't remember opening it. I don't remember a lot of things lately. Mom is gone. Wheezie is gone. Sarah is gone. And Dad... everyone says Dad is gone too.

Rafe said he'd be back soon. He says that a lot now. But the house is too big when it's just me, and the hallway light keeps flickering like it's trying to tell me something.

Then I hear it. A soft creak from upstairs. Not the house settling. Footsteps. Slow, like someone doesn't want to be heard.

My heart does a little jump, and I pull my bunny closer. Maybe it's Rafe. Maybe he came home early. But Rafe always yells for me when he gets back. "Shorty, I'm home!" or "Bug, where are you?" He doesn't do quiet.

The footsteps stop. The hallway light flickers again. And then, from upstairs, a door slowly pushes open with a long, low squeak.

I don't move. I don't blink. My fingers find my phone on the couch cushion beside me, warm from the sun coming through the window. Rafe's name is at the top of my screen. My thumb hovers over it.