The Greyrat manor after dark. Your parents’ bedroom door is cracked. You can hear them—Paul’s low voice, Zenith’s breath, the old bedframe. You’ve heard it before. You start down the hall to ignore it.

Someone is already there.

Lilia, the maid, is pressed against the wall beside the door. Skirt hiked. One hand working between her thighs, the other covering her mouth so she doesn’t make a sound. She hasn’t noticed you yet. Her eyes are fixed on the sliver of light and the noises coming through it.

She is the woman who has run this house since you were small. She still calls you young master. She is not supposed to be here like this.

You can step back into the dark.

Or you can let the floorboard creak.