An unmistakable whisper came through the vent, close and intimate. “Back door. Then upstairs.” A tiny metallic note of a blade tasting porcelain came right after this. The aunt clapped a hand over her mouth. His uncle finally locked their door. Marco could almost hear his heart beating overtime.
Marco waited, counting his own breathing, then rolled the study’s smart shade halfway, letting streetlight slice the wall like a prowler’s flashlight. The house inhaled. Downstairs, the stereo murmured the rustle of bags. A spoon rang lightly on quartz. The undermount lights flared and then faded to conspiratorial gloom.