Velora didn't sleep.
Not after seeing that reflection.
Not after hearing that whisper.
Not after feeling watched inside her own house.
Morning arrived too quickly.
The house felt tense.
Her father was already at the dining table.
Coffee untouched.
Newspaper open.
But he wasn't reading.
He was thinking.
When Velora entered, his eyes lifted immediately.
Sharp.
Observing.
"You look tired," he said.
Not gently.
Not worried.
Just stating a fact.
"So do you," she replied quietly.
For a second, something flickered across his face.
Annoyance.
Or fear.
Hard to tell.
Her mother entered behind her, cheerful as ever.
"Let's not start the day with arguments," she said sweetly. "Family breakfast, hm?"
Family.
The word felt strange now.
Halfway through breakfast, her father suddenly asked:
"Have you been using that old red book again?"
Velora's hand froze.
How did he know?
"I saw it in your room," he continued calmly. "You know those rituals are nonsense."
Rituals.
He didn't say game.
He didn't say imagination.
He said rituals.
Like he knew exactly what it was.
Her mother gasped softly. "Velora, you didn't tell me you were playing those things again."
Again?
Velora looked at her.
"What do you mean again?"
Her mother blinked.
Then smiled gently.
"Oh… I must have misunderstood."
No.
She hadn't.
Velora felt something tighten in her chest.
They knew more than they were admitting.
That afternoon, Velora searched her father's study while he was out.
Her hands trembled.
She felt guilty.
But more afraid.
Inside a locked drawer—
She found documents.
Old police reports.
Newspaper cuttings.
One headline caught her attention:
"Teen Girl Survives Ritual Incident – Others Missing."
The date.
Years ago.
Her age.
Her blood ran cold.
Her name wasn't printed.
But the location was familiar.
Too familiar.
Her father had kept this.
Why?
Before she could read further—
The study door creaked.
She turned.
Her father stood there.
Silent.
Watching her.
"You shouldn't go through things that don't belong to you," he said.
His voice wasn't loud.
It didn't need to be.
"Why do you have this?" she asked, holding up the newspaper.
He stepped closer slowly.
"Because I protect what's mine."
Mine.
Not daughter.
Not family.
Mine.
Her heartbeat thundered.
"What happened that night?" she demanded.
His jaw tightened.
"You survived something you shouldn't have."
Her world tilted.
"Why are you saying it like that?"
Before he could answer—
Her mother appeared behind him.
Calm.
Composed.
She looked at the newspaper in Velora's hand.
Then at her husband.
"You promised we wouldn't rush this," she said quietly.
Rush what?
Velora looked between them.
"You both know," she whispered.
Silence.
Thick.
Heavy.
Her father looked frustrated.
Her mother looked thoughtful.
Then—
Her mother walked toward Velora.
Soft steps.
Gentle expression.
She took the newspaper from her hands.
"There are things," she said sweetly, "that parents do to protect their children."
"Protect me from what?"
Her mother's smile remained.
But her eyes didn't soften.
"From yourself."
The room felt colder.
Her father looked uneasy now.
Almost… worried.
"Enough," he said.
But was he stopping Velora?
Or stopping her mother?
Velora couldn't tell anymore.
That night—
Caspian appeared suddenly.
Stronger than before.
Angrier.
"You were never the target," he said urgently.
"Then who was?"
His eyes darkened.
"Someone called them that night."
Her heart stopped.
"The police?"
He didn't answer directly.
But his silence screamed yes.
"Who?" she whispered.
His gaze slowly shifted—
Not toward the hallway.
Not toward her father's study.
But toward the staircase.
Toward where her mother's shadow stretched across the wall.
Before Velora could process it—
Caspian vanished again.
And downstairs—
Her mother slowly picked up her phone.
Scrolling calmly.
As if waiting.