The air in the house was still, the kind of stillness that makes every small sound louder than it should be. Somewhere outside, a dog barked once, then stopped.

  Lian woke to the sound of her father’s voice again, low and tense. She blinked in the darkness, the faint green of the digital clock blinking 2:47. Kai was still asleep beside her, curled up with his blanket pulled to his chin.

  She listened. Something about the way her father spoke felt different this time. Not frustrated, not tired—afraid.

  Lian slipped out of bed and padded quietly to the door. The floorboards were cold beneath her feet. When she peeked into the hall, the light from the study was spilling out in a thin golden stripe. She followed it, slow and careful.

  Her father was on the phone, his voice tight and fast. “No, we can’t transmit that. I told you, it’s not stable. The code isn’t complete.”

  A pause. Then he said, quieter, “They’re just children. I’m not handing this over until I know what it’s for.”

  Her mother stood near the desk, arms crossed. Her face looked drawn in the lamplight. “You think refusing will stop them?” she asked after he hung up.

  Her father turned. “It buys us time.”

  Lian took a step closer. The movement made the floor creak, and both their heads snapped toward her.

  “Lian,” her mother said, softer now, but her eyes were alert. “What are you doing up?”

  “I heard you,” she said. “Are you fighting again?”

  Her father sighed and walked over, kneeling so he could meet her eyes. “We’re not fighting. We just have to make a big decision.”

  “About work?”

  “Yes,” he said. Then, with a forced smile, “Go back to bed. Everything’s fine.”

  She didn’t move. “You’re lying.”

  Her father froze. The words stung more than she meant them to. She wasn’t trying to accuse him. She just wanted to understand.

  He stood and looked at her mother, then said quietly, “She’s getting too old to believe in easy answers.”

  Her mother went to Lian and put a hand on her shoulder. “Your father and I are just worried about keeping everyone safe, that’s all. You don’t have to carry that. Not yet.”

  “I can help,” Lian said. “I’m not a kid.”

  Her mother’s hand trembled slightly as she brushed Lian’s hair away from her face. “You are,” she whispered. “And that’s the best thing about you.”

  The words confused Lian, but before she could say anything, the lights flickered. Once. Twice. Then they went out completely.

  The house plunged into darkness.

  Kai woke up in their room, disoriented by the sudden blackness. “Lian?” he called, his voice small.

  She turned toward the hallway. “I’m here.”

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  Her father reached for a flashlight on the desk, clicking it on. The beam cut through the dark like a blade, catching the thin swirl of dust in the air.

  “Stay with your mother,” he said, moving toward the door.

  “Where are you going?”

  “Checking the breakers.”

  But there was something in his tone that didn’t sound like he believed it.

  Lian stayed beside her mother, who had gone completely still, listening. Outside, the neighborhood was silent. No lights, no traffic. Just the sound of rain starting up again.

  Then, faintly, through the quiet, came another sound. Tires on gravel. Slow, deliberate.

  Her mother tensed. “Jiang,” she said sharply.

  “I hear it,” her father answered.

  Lian moved to the window, but her mother caught her arm. “Stay back.”

  Through the curtains, she could make out the shape of a car idling near the gate. No headlights. Just the faint glow of the interior panel as someone opened the door.

  Her mother whispered, “Get your brother.”

  Lian ran to the room, heart pounding, and shook Kai awake. “We have to go.”

  “Why?”

  “Just get up.”

  She pulled him from bed and led him back to the hall. Her father was at the door now, holding something metallic—a small security baton. His expression was set.

  Her mother had opened the panel in the hallway wall, revealing a hidden compartment Lian had never seen before. Inside were a few drives, a stack of papers, and a small case.

  “Take this,” her mother said, handing the case to Lian. “Don’t open it. No matter what happens, keep it with you.”

  “What is it?”

  “Something that belongs to us.”

  Before Lian could ask more, the doorbell rang. Once. A single sharp chime that cut through the quiet.

  No one moved.

  Then her father said, “Take them through the back.”

  Her mother hesitated. “And you?”

  “I’ll stall.”

  She didn’t argue. She grabbed Lian’s arm and started moving fast down the hall, Kai stumbling behind. Lian looked over her shoulder once and saw her father at the front door, flashlight beam steady.

  In the kitchen, her mother unlatched the back door and ushered them into the courtyard. The air outside was heavy, wet with mist.

  Lian turned. “Mom, what’s happening?”

  Her mother knelt, cupping her face. Her hands were shaking now, but her eyes were calm. “Listen to me. If anything happens, you take Kai and run to the old temple near the river. Do you remember the way?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good. Stay quiet. Don’t stop for anyone.”

  Lian’s throat felt tight. “Come with us.”

  “I will,” her mother said, but she didn’t move.

  Kai clutched her sleeve. “I don’t want to go without Dad.”

  Her mother smiled faintly. “You’re just like him.”

  A sharp sound echoed from the front of the house—wood splintering. Voices followed, low and urgent.

  Her mother pushed them toward the garden gate. “Now.”

  Lian hesitated one last time, looking at her. “Mom—”

  “Go,” her mother said.

  So they ran.

  The garden path was slick with rain. Lian held Kai’s hand tight, her breath coming fast. She didn’t dare look back. The street beyond the fence was dark and empty, the air buzzing faintly with the smell of ozone and wet concrete.

  They reached the end of the alley before she stopped. She turned around, chest heaving, the case still clutched in her hand.

  Behind them, the house was a dim outline against the sky. For a moment, everything was silent again. Then came a sound that split the night open—a muffled thud, followed by glass shattering.

  Kai flinched. “Lian?”

  She didn’t answer. She just took his hand again and started running.

  The streetlights flickered back on as they reached the main road, pale and uneven. The rain turned to drizzle. Somewhere in the distance, a siren wailed, soft and far away.

  Lian didn’t stop until they reached the foot of the hill, where the first trees of the old temple grove began. Only then did she slow down, her breath catching in her throat.

  Kai leaned against her, shivering. “Are they okay?”

  She didn’t know how to answer. So she just pulled him close and said, “We’ll wait for them. They’ll find us.”