The walk home is suffocatingly quiet. My shoes are pinching my toes, the irritation matching my mood.

I stop, slip them off, and carry them.

From a distance, our house looks too perfect to trust. Then I notice two figures by the fence, too still to be casual.

Calista is standing by the white picket fence, talking to a young lady her own age.

Why are they standing out in the open? They should be inside. At least her father could pretend he isn’t listening from the hallway.

In this world, you have to watch your children from the shadows. We need to protect Calista.

We need to make sure...