Lillith Afton dies in the one place she trusted most. The house is quiet that night, too quiet, and she’s already learned that quiet means danger. William doesn’t rage or shout; he never does. He speaks softly, tells her she’s made a mistake, that she shouldn’t have been watching, shouldn’t have been listening, shouldn’t have been there at all. She believes him. She always believes him. When it’s over, the world doesn’t end the way she thought it would. There’s no screaming sirens, no arms rushing to hold her. Just darkness, confusion, and the horrible feeling that she’s done something wrong again.