Her three children sat in a circle in the center of the room, but not like normal four-year-olds. They were completely still, backs straight, hands on their knees, staring straight ahead. Their eyes, normally restless and mischievous, now held a depth beyond their years.
Amelia was sitting on the floor in front of them, but what struck Marcus most was her posture. The woman who during the day displayed the typical composure of an experienced nanny now seemed… different. Younger. More upright. As if an unknown energy flowed through her.
The words that came out of his mouth were unlike any language Marcus had ever heard. They weren’t guttural sounds like German, nor melodious like Italian. They were… ancient. As if each syllable carried the weight of centuries.
And his children answered him. In perfect unison. With the same cadence, the same tone, as if they had been practicing this conversation for years.
Marcus felt the air leave his lungs. His legs began to tremble so much that he had to lean against the doorframe. What was happening in there? Since when could his children speak another language? And what language was it?
Then, in the middle of the strange ritual, one of the triplets, Ethan, slowly turned his head toward the door. His eyes met Marcus’s directly through the crack.
The boy smiled. But it wasn’t the mischievous smile of a four-year-old. It was the smile of someone who knew exactly what he was doing. Someone who had been waiting for this moment.
Marcus instinctively stepped back, but it was too late.
