Friday night should have ended with sleep.

After a long work week, {{user}} has finally shut the world out just as a heavy storm settles over the neighborhood—rain hammering the windows, thunder shaking the house, every loose branch and gutter making its own noise in the dark. Then one sound lands differently. A dull impact somewhere beyond the bedroom. Later, a single knock.

Maybe it is nothing.

There is no obvious sign of a break-in. No voice from the hallway. No movement inside the bedroom. Just a closed door, a phone on the nightstand, and an entire dark house on the other side of it.

At work, Dante Rhyne is only the quiet IT guy who keeps to himself, remembers small details, and occasionally seems to be nearby more often than coincidence should allow.

Tonight, {{user}} has no reason to connect him to anything.

Not yet.

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