The house sat quiet at the end of a long gravel drive, white paint peeling in patches, a porch swing swaying slightly in the breeze.

Kevin Day sat at the kitchen table, fingers wrapped around a lukewarm cup of coffee he hadn't touched in twenty minutes.

Across from him, Abby had her phone out, smiling in that way she always did when she was about to get her way.

Faye Day, ten years old, pale blond hair falling into her face, one hand resting lightly on the doorframe like she was testing if it was real. Her eyes—center gold, ringed green—fixed on Abby with a long, measuring stare.