They brewed chamomile, toasting each other’s cleverness. “Counsel will confirm,” his uncle said, stacking papers like poker chips. His aunt added honey to her cup, savoring victory. Outside, Marco watched through blinds, fingers poised over keys. The house sat in silence, waiting for his quiet instructions.
A soft chime whispered through the pantry sensor. His aunt froze, cup midair. “Old circuits,” his uncle muttered, checking his phone. Another chime pulsed. He frowned, thumb hovering over dismiss. “Motion,” the app claimed. “False alarm,” he told her firmly, though his own shoulders stiffened under his shirt.