Julie stopped in the entryway and let the house speak first. The fridge hummed. The TV murmured. No voices, no footsteps—nothing that explained the scuff by the downstairs bathroom or the faint smear on the hallway mirror. The quiet felt ordinary, which somehow made it worse.
Her gaze went to Marcus, then to the side table shifted a few inches, then back to Marcus again. If someone had been inside, he would’ve been stuck in the middle of it, forced to sit and listen. The thought slid under her ribs and refused to leave.