Emma had always been observant.
She carried Catherine’s auburn hair and Daniel’s sharp green eyes, and she spoke carefully, as if she understood that words carried weight.
“Daddy,” she whispered, her voice thin, her eyes darting toward the staircase behind her. “We have to get out. Right now.”
Daniel looked up and smiled.
Emma had been imaginative lately. Monsters in attics. Shadows that moved. Last week, she insisted they evacuate the house because something was breathing above her ceiling, which turned out to be a raccoon.
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