Chapter 1
The house was loud that night.
And then it was never loud again.”
The Night the Stars Went out
Serafina was not supposed to be awake.
She knew that because the hallway lights were dimmed to their soft gold glow, the way they always were after bedtime. The house had rules. Everything in her world had rules.
Dinner at seven.
Bath at eight.
Kiss on her forehead at eight-thirty.
Her mother always smelled like jasmine and something warm she could never name.
Tonight, there was no kiss.
She had waited.
She had listened.
The house was not quiet in the right way.
There was a different kind of noise beneath the silence. A tension that made the walls feel thinner.
Voices.
Not loud. Not screaming.
Sharp.
Her father’s voice was lower than usual. Controlled, but tight. Like when he spoke to men who had disappointed him.
She sat up in bed, her dark hair falling into her eyes. She pushed it back and slid her legs over the side of the mattress. The marble floor was cold beneath her feet.
She told herself she would just look.
Just look and go back to bed.
She opened her bedroom door slowly, careful not to let the hinges make a sound. The hallway stretched long and polished, the portraits on the walls watching her with painted eyes.
The study doors were open.
Light spilled out in a narrow line.
She could see her father’s back.
He stood tall, blocking part of the room. His shoulders were wide, unmovable. She always thought nothing could move him.
Her mother stood slightly behind him, one hand resting lightly against the edge of the desk. She looked smaller tonight.
There were three men she did not know.
Strangers did not belong in this house at night.
One of them smiled.
It was a thin smile. It did not reach his eyes.
Serafina felt something twist in her stomach.
Her mother’s eyes flicked toward the doorway.
Toward her.
For a split second, their gazes locked.
Her mother did not look surprised.
She looked calculating.
Then—
The first shot shattered the air.
It was louder than thunder. Louder than anything Serafina had ever heard.
Her father jerked.
She thought he had tripped.
Her mind could not catch up.
The lamp crashed to the floor. Shadows jumped across the walls.
Another shot.
Her mother stumbled backward.
Serafina’s hands flew to her ears too late. The ringing came anyway.
She tried to breathe but her chest felt too tight.
Her father was on the ground.
He was not supposed to be on the ground.
Her mother moved again. Fast. Reaching into the desk drawer.
Another explosion.
Her body went still.
Not dramatic. Not slow.
Just… still.
Serafina opened her mouth.
No sound came out.
The smiling man stepped forward, calm as if walking through his own home. His shoes were black and polished. She stared at them. Her brain chose that detail. Not the blood. Not the bodies.
The shoes.
Her mother’s hand lay against the marble floor.
The gold ring on her finger caught the light.
It looked wrong there.
Everything looked wrong.
Her mother’s lips moved.
Run.
Serafina understood that word.
But her legs would not move.
The man turned toward the hallway.
Toward her.
Their eyes met.
He did not look shocked to see a child.
He looked… thoughtful.
Like she was something to consider.
“Bring her.”
The words were almost bored.
Hands grabbed her from behind.
She screamed then.
The sound tore from her throat raw and high.
She bit the hand that covered her mouth. Hard. She tasted blood. Not hers.
Someone cursed. Pain shot across her cheek as she was struck.
The world tilted.
She was lifted, her small body thrown over a shoulder. The ceiling lights blurred into streaks as she kicked and thrashed.
“Put me down!” she cried, but her voice broke halfway through.
She twisted her head back.
The study doorway was shrinking.
She saw her father’s arm stretched out on the floor.
She saw her mother’s ring again.
The gold flash was the last solid thing in the room.
She tried to memorize it.
Because something inside her knew—
If she did not remember it, it would disappear.
The night air hit her face as they moved outside. Cold. Too cold. She had no shoes.
A car door opened.
She fought harder.
Small fists. Scratching nails. Panic making her strong in the desperate way children can be.
Someone pressed cloth against her mouth.
It smelled sharp and wrong.
She shook her head violently.
“No—no—no—”
The world began to soften at the edges.
Voices turned thick.
Her father’s voice echoed in her head.
Her mother’s eyes.
Run.
She had not run.
Darkness slid over her vision.
The last thing she felt was the sensation of being small.
Too small.
And somewhere behind her, the house that had always been full of warmth and order went silent.
Completely silent.
Like it had never been alive at all.
