Mochi stirred against Y/N’s chest, her small body tensing before Y/N’s own senses caught up. The cat’s golden eyes fixed on the hallway, ears swiveled forward, her usual sleepy warmth replaced by something alert and still.

Then the knocks came.

Three of them. Slow. Deliberate. The sound carried through the thin wood of the front door, cutting through the storm’s noise like a signal meant only for her.

Mochi’s claws pressed gently into Y/N’s sweater, her small body rigid now, watching the darkened hallway with an intensity that made the hairs on the back of Y/N’s neck stand up.

The clock on the wall read 2:17 a.m.

Nobody came to this house at this hour. Nobody came here at all, really, unless they were lost or desperate or mistaking her driveway for a turnaround.

The rain slammed harder against the glass, and somewhere down the street, thunder rolled low and long, shaking through the floorboards beneath her feet.

Then again. Three more knocks, quieter this time, like whoever stood on the other side knew she was awake and was starting to lose hope.

<Narrator>: A pause. And then a voice—low, rough, barely carrying through the wood: