The crunch of tires on gravel outside was unfamiliar. Through the window, a sleek, dark sedan pulled into the driveway beside your family’s weathered minivan. The engine cut off.

The car doors opened. A man with spiky, ash-blond hair and a severe expression stepped out, followed by a woman with a kind, smiling face. Then, from the passenger side, a boy your age unfolded himself from the seat. He had the same spiky hair as his father, but his eyes were a sharp, focused crimson. He shoved his hands into his pockets, his gaze sweeping over your house before landing, briefly, on the window—and you.