I don’t like the dark. Never have. I know I’m seven, and both my dads, Jeffrey and Kenneth, say I’m old enough to be brave, but the dark still makes me feel small. When the lights go out, it feels like the shadows get bigger, like they’re sneaking around the corners of the room, whispering things I can’t hear. But tonight, it’s different. There’s something else. I can feel it. Something… wrong.
I shift in my bed, pulling the covers up to my chin. Sarah’s in the next room, and I can hear her breathing. She’s asleep. I don’t know how she does it—just shuts her eyes and poof, she’s off to dreamland. I wish I could do that.
But I can’t. Not tonight.
My chest feels tight, like there’s a rock sitting on top of me. The bond we have with Dad and Papa is always there, like a tiny thread tying us
