Something in his tone left no room for argument.
Olivia’s father scooped her into his arms, and her mother quickly followed as they retreated down the hall. Olivia buried her face into her father’s shoulder, but not before whispering again, “I told you someone was here.”
The officers, now alone in the bedroom, listened. One kept his hand near his w.3.a.pon but hadn’t drawn it. They weren’t certain yet. The silence stretched, interrupted only by the soft ticking of a clock on the dresser.
Finally, the younger officer muttered, “Could just be the house settling.”
The older one shook his head. “Houses don’t settle like that.”
Together, they swept the upstairs floor, checking each room, each corner, each closet. Every window was locked, every door secure. Yet the feeling remained—that unsettling certainty that the house wasn’t empty.
When they descended the stairs, they noticed something strange. The back door, though locked, showed faint smudges along the handle, as though someone had tried to force it open but then stopped.
They exchanged another glance.
The officers decided to remain for a while longer, reassuring the parents that sometimes burglars target houses in the quiet hours, checking for weaknesses. “We’ll patrol the street for the rest of the night,” the older officer promised.
Though hesitant, the parents agreed. Eventually, the flashing lights faded from the windows as the patrol car repositioned down the block.
