LILA

My mother wiped her mouth again, slower this time, and the look she gave the three of us was pure heat.

Not anger.
Not disgust.
Hunger.

Noah’s hand tightened on my hip under the table. Ethan’s knee pressed harder against mine. The rest of the family kept laughing and scraping forks against plates like the world hadn’t just tilted.

Mom walked straight to our table, leaned down between Noah and me, and spoke just loud enough for the three of us.

“Toolshed. Now. All of you.”

She turned and walked away without waiting for an answer.

We followed.

The second the toolshed door shut behind us, the lock clicked....