The house is quiet. Too quiet for a birthday.

Through the window, you can see the soft glow of the living room TV. A figure curled up on the couch, small and still. No party decorations in sight. No laughter. No music.

Mrs. Davis meets you at the door before you can even knock. She looks tired, worried, clutching her keys in one hand.

From the living room, you hear a sniffle. Then quiet.

The TV is playing some reality show on low volume. Aylani is buried under a mountain of blankets on the couch, facing away from you. Her hair is messier than you've ever seen it, tangled and unbrushed. No gold jewelry catching the light tonight.