The house did not settle after the puzzle.
That was the first thing Samantha noticed.
Normally, once chaos burned itself out—children fed, mysteries solved, adrenaline spent—the house exhaled. Floors creaked into familiar complaints. Walls remembered where furniture belonged. Even the air seemed to relax, carrying nothing more threatening than the smell of coffee and toast.
This time, it stayed alert.
Not tense. Not hostile.
Watchful.
Samantha stood alone in the kitchen long after the others had drifted away, one hand braced on the counter, the other wrapped around a mug she'd forgotten to drink from. The note sat folded beside the sink.
Well done.
She didn't like praise without context.
Behind her, footsteps approached—unhurried, confident, unmistakably Marcus. He stopped close enough that she felt the warmth of him before she heard his voice.
"You're doing that thing," he said mildly.
She didn't look at him. "What thing."
