Amy's footsteps echoed softly in the Davis house hallway, heavier than usual. Even after a night spent recovering in an unfamiliar room, she trusted that she was home—her home. She still believed every polished wall, every fragrant curtain, every gleaming tile belonged to the family that had raised her.
But something felt off.
Her head still throbbed from the sedative, her body weak, her thoughts fuzzy. The events of the night before were a blur: dizziness, strange lights, and then… nothing. Yet the memory of humiliation, of being vulnerable, lingered like a shadow she couldn't shake.
The front door opened, and Mrs. Davis greeted her with a tight, controlled smile.
"There you are, Amy. Breakfast is ready," she said, voice soft but carefully measured.
Amy nodded, forcing a smile. "Thank you, Mom."
Mr. Davis cleared his throat nervously, glancing at her as if weighing how shaken she might be. She still believed in them completely—her real parents. Their nervousness made her chest ache with concern.
And then she saw Mirable.
Leaning casually against the staircase railing, hair flawless, posture deliberate, lips curved in that faint, infuriatingly confident smile. The kind of smile that whispered, I know more than you do, and there's nothing you can do about it.
Amy's chest tightened.
"Good morning, Amy," Mirable said, her voice dripping sweetness. "Did you sleep well after… last night?"
Amy blinked, trying to shake off the fog. "I… yes. Thank you."
Mirable's smile widened imperceptibly. "I'm glad. You must be tired, though—so many things happening."
Every word carried an edge, every syllable a hidden barb. Amy felt it, but couldn't place it. She still trusted her parents, still believed she was safe here.
Breakfast was quiet, the air thick with tension. Mrs. Davis tried to smile, but it didn't reach her eyes. Mr. Davis cleared his throat again, glancing nervously, as though hoping Amy wouldn't notice how strained everything felt.
And Mirable—oh, Mirable—moved through the room with the precision of a predator. Every glance, every tilt of her head, every carefully clipped word aimed to unsettle Amy without anyone else noticing.
"You were lucky yesterday," Mirable murmured as Amy poured herself a glass of water. "Not everyone gets away with… mishaps like that."
Amy's throat tightened. "I—I don't understand."
"Oh, you will," Mirable said softly, leaning just enough closer that Amy could feel the unspoken threat. "Everything happens in time. Just… be careful who you trust."
Amy's fingers tightened around the glass. The words pricked at the edge of her awareness. Something was wrong, she knew that—but she still trusted her parents, still believed they were on her side.
Her phone buzzed softly against the table. She reached for it, hesitant. The screen lit up with Ethan's name, bold and commanding.
Ethan: Be at work by 9. And Amy… don't make any mistakes today.
Ethan: I expect a full report on last night's incident. Don't disappoint me.
Amy's fingers trembled as she read the terse, clipped messages. The words carried weight—control, judgment, expectation. She wanted to reply, to explain, but the fog in her head left her unable to string coherent sentences together.
She slid the phone back into her pocket, uneasy. Even from a distance, Ethan's presence pressed against her like a shadow. She shook her head slightly, trying to push the tension away, but a knot of fear and confusion settled deeper in her chest.
Mirable, catching the faint flicker of her unease, smiled subtly, as if she had read Amy's mind.
Amy pressed her lips together, staring down at her plate. Every bite of food tasted bland. Every polite nod and "good morning" sounded hollow. The house seemed quieter, yet the air was thick with judgment.
Though groggy and shaken, beneath the fog of sedation, a small ember of awareness flickered in her chest. Something had shifted. Something dangerous was moving in the background, invisible yet undeniable.
She didn't understand it fully. She didn't know what was coming. She didn't even know what Mirable was planning next.
But she felt it.
And for the first time, she realized she might need to fight—even if she didn't yet know how.