Aurora’s P.O.V
As soon as we step inside, I exhale a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding. The house is eerily quiet, but for once, that silence brings me comfort instead of fear. There’s no sound of heavy boots stomping against the floor, no slurred curses or the rattling of beer bottles being thrown against the wall. He isn’t here. That means he’s either passed out drunk in some alley or holed up in a smoky gambling den, chasing the illusion of luck with the last of his winnings.
Good. I don’t have to tiptoe around tonight.
I bolt the door behind me, securing the deadbolt and the chain, then double-check the windows, making sure every single one is locked. I can’t risk him stumbling in at some ungodly hour, demanding money we don’t have or waking up my brother with his usual rage-fueled nonsense.
Once satisfied that we’re as safe as we can be, I head to the kitchen, pulling out the leftovers I managed to bring home from the diner. The pasta is a little dry, but it’s food, and that’s all that matters. I save a portion for the morning—I know we won’t have much else for breakfast—and warm up the rest. As I place the plates on the table, my brother plops down in his chair with a tired groan, rubbing at his face.
"Think he'll be gone all night?" he asks, his voice hopeful but cautious.
I nod, giving him the closest thing to reassurance I can manage. "Probably. If he was coming back early, we would've heard him by now." I push a plate toward him, watching as he digs in, his exhaustion evident in the way he eats—too fast, as if he has to finish before something takes it away from him. I know the feeling.
We eat in silence for a moment, the tension in my shoulders gradually easing, the familiar taste of home-cooked food, even if it’s just reheated, giving me a small sense of normalcy. But then, just as I start to feel even the tiniest bit comfortable, the lights flicker once—twice—before plunging us into darkness.
"Not again,” he said.
I stay still, listening. It could just be a blackout, but my gut tells me otherwise. "Stay put," I murmur, pushing my chair back carefully. I know where the candles are—I keep them ready for nights like these. Just as I take a step toward the drawer, I hear something outside. A faint noise, barely noticeable over the distant sounds of the city. My stomach twists.
My brother must hear it too because he tenses up. "Aura," he whispers, barely audible.
"Shh." I hold up a hand, heart pounding as I strain to listen. The locks are secure. The windows are shut. We should be safe. But when it comes to our father, I’ve learned never to let my guard down.
This wasn’t a power cut. This was me, forgetting to pay the damn bill. I groaned, rubbing my temples as I tried to calculate how long it would be until my next paycheck. Three days. Three long days without electricity.
"Aura?" Riley's small voice cut through my panic, and I turned to see his shadowy figure standing uncertainly by the doorway. He clutched his stuffed rabbit, the one I had sewn back together twice now, and his big, worried eyes gleamed in the dim moonlight.
"I’m scared," he whispered, and instantly, my heart clenched.
Forcing a smile, even though my insides felt like they were twisting into knots, I reached for the drawer and fumbled around until my fingers closed around a candle. I struck a match, the little flame casting long, flickering shadows on the walls. It wasn’t much, but it would do. I placed the candle carefully on the table, watching the way it's warm glow made Riley’s face soften just a little.
“Well, buddy,” I said, keeping my voice light, “looks like we’re going to have a few candle-lit dinners. Fancy, huh?”
Riley hesitated, clearly unconvinced, his little hands tightening around his stuffed toy. “But… What about the fridge? And the lights?” His lip wobbled, and I swallowed hard, knowing that no amount of sugar coating would change the fact that this was going to be rough.
I kneeled in front of him, brushing his messy hair back from his forehead. “It’s just for a few days, love. Just until I get paid. We’ll make it fun, yeah? We can tell stories, play games—like camping inside the house.”
His expression was still uncertain, but after a moment, he gave me a small nod. “Okay,” he mumbled.
Relieved but still feeling the weight of my failure settle heavily on my shoulders, I guided him to the table to finish up our dinner.
*
After we finished, I took him to his room, pulling back the covers so he could crawl in. He watched me quietly as I tucked him in, his small hands gripping the blanket tightly.
"Will he come tonight?" he asked again, his voice barely above a whisper.
I hated that he had to ask that. I hated that he even had to think about it. But I refused to lie to him, so I just brushed his hair again and said, "Even if he does, he won’t be able to get to you, baby. I promise."
His lips pressed together as he nodded, but I could see the fear still lingering in his eyes. I leaned down and pressed a kiss to his forehead, murmuring, “Sleep tight, okay? I’ll be right outside.”
After locking his door, my hands lingered on the knob for a moment before I slowly backed away, my eyes burning with unshed tears. I couldn't afford to cry now. Not when I had to be strong for Riley. Not when I had to make sure that even if our father came back—drunk, furious, looking for something to break—Riley would be safe.
I kept the candle glowing on the table, in case I needed to come downstairs in the middle of the night, so that the room wouldn’t be shrouded in darkness. I took another candle with me, so I could get some rest.
Three more days. Just three more days.
I just had to survive until then.
The house was silent, save for the occasional creak of the old wooden floors beneath my feet as I made my way up to the attic. It was my space—small, isolated, and away from everything else, but I had never minded that. It was my sanctuary, a place where I could escape, where I could breathe.
The air in the attic was stuffy, the heat of the day still trapped inside, pressing against my skin. I crossed the room and pushed open the window, the night air rushed in, cool and crisp against my face. I sighed, resting my arms against the windowsill, my eyes trailing over the dark expanse of trees stretching behind the house.
The woods had always been there, tall and foreboding, an ever-present boundary between home and the unknown. But tonight, something felt different. The air carried a strange weight, an unnatural stillness, as though the world itself was holding its breath. And then I saw it.
At first, I thought my eyes were playing tricks on me, that the shadows were shifting, bending under the dim moonlight. But then the figure moved—slowly, deliberately. A large, hulking shape, too big to be a normal dog, too fluid to be anything else I could make sense of.
My breath caught in my throat as its glowing amber eyes locked onto mine, piercing through the darkness like twin embers, burning, watching. It wasn’t just looking in my direction—it was looking at me. My stomach twisted into knots, my heartbeat hammering against my ribs, an instinctive fear rising from deep within me.
My body reacted before my mind could catch up, my hands flying up to slam the window shut. The blinds came down in a single paRoaned motion, my fingers fumbling over the cords as I forced myself to take deep, shaky breaths.
I stepped back, my pulse roaring in my ears. It was just an animal, I told myself. Maybe a stray, maybe a wolf that had wandered too close to the house. But I knew better.
Something about it wasn’t right. Something about the way it looked at me, the way it didn’t move, just stood there—waiting. Watching.
I swallowed hard, forcing myself to glance back at the window, half expecting to see those glowing eyes still staring at me through the glass. But there was nothing. Just the dark stretch of trees, the stillness of the night. It was gone.
My fingers curled into fists at my sides, trying to ground myself, trying to convince myself that I hadn’t imagined it, that it hadn’t been some figment of my exhausted mind playing cruel tricks on me. But deep down, I knew.
Something had been there. And it had seen me.