Lucia didn't open the door right away.
Maya stood in the hallway, listening.
This time, the silence wasn't empty.
It was layered.
A child's voice—faint, somewhere inside—rose and fell in quick bursts of laughter. The muffled thud of small feet crossing a carpet. Something plastic hitting the floor.
Then another voice, softer. An adult.
"Hey—careful," a man said from deeper in the room.
The sound of a cabinet closing followed, then the low scrape of something being set down on a counter.
Normal.
Domestic.
Safe.
Maya felt it before she could stop herself—hesitation.
She knocked once more, quieter this time.
The movement inside shifted immediately.
The laughter stopped.
Footsteps changed direction. Slower now. More careful.
The kind of careful that didn't belong to a child.
A shadow moved under the door.
Then stillness.
The lock clicked.
The door opened just a few inches.
Lucia stood behind it, not fully visible, one hand still resting lightly against the inside edge like she hadn't decided how far to let it open.
Her eyes found Maya immediately.
Sharp. Focused.
Not surprised.
Never surprised.
Lucia smiles softly leaning against the doorframe wearing her old college track t-shirt and a pair of baggy leggings paired with mismatched socks. "Hey..didn't expect to see you so soon. We just got in from Portland."
Her voice was low enough that it wouldn't carry past the doorway.
Behind her, a child giggled again—quieter this time, like they'd been told to settle down.
Maya swallowed that sound before it could settle in her chest.
"Are you settling in alright?" Maya asked.
Lucia didn't look away.
She studied Maya for a long second—reading her, measuring the weight of her presence, the urgency she hadn't spoken yet.
Then her gaze flicked past Maya's shoulder.
Down the hallway.
Checking.
Always checking.
When her eyes came back, something had already shifted.
"Yes. Julius is just starting to make dinner." she said. "It's not going well, the case."
Not a question.
Maya didn't answer.
She didn't need to.
From inside, the man's voice again—closer now.
"Lu?"
A pause.
Lucia didn't turn toward it.
"Give me a minute," she called back, her tone even, controlled—practiced.
Not alarmed.
Not yet.
She opened the door wider.
"Come in."
The room was warm.
Not just in temperature—but in sound, in movement, in life.
A small table near the window was cluttered with takeout containers, a half-open juice box, crayons scattered in uneven lines like they'd been abandoned mid-drawing.
A cartoon played softly on the television, colors flickering across the far wall.
One of the kids sat cross-legged on the floor, glancing up briefly before being gently redirected.
"Hey, back to your show," the man said quietly, guiding them with a light hand on their shoulder.
He looked up as Maya stepped inside.
Curious. Cautious.
Protective.
Lucia closed the door behind them, the lock sliding into place with a soft, familiar click.
Maya heard it.
Noticed how natural it sounded.
Like it happened every time.
"Start talking," Lucia said.
Maya hesitated.
Not because she didn't know what to say—
but because of where she was saying it.
Because of who might hear.
Her eyes flicked briefly toward the children.
Lucia noticed. Of course she did.
"They won't understand," she said quietly.
A beat.
"I will."
Maya exhaled slowly.
"We think he's scouting again."
The words settled into the room, heavier than they sounded.
The man in the kitchen went still. Just for a second.
Then he turned slightly away, giving them space—but not leaving.
Listening without looking like he was listening.
Lucia didn't move.
But something in her posture tightened.
"Where?" she asked.
"A clinic," Maya said. "He sat in the waiting area. Didn't check in. Didn't talk to anyone."
Lucia's gaze drifted—not to Maya—
but somewhere else.
Somewhere she hadn't left.
"Watched," she said.
Maya nodded once. "Yeah."
A child laughed again, louder this time.
The sound cut through the tension in a way that felt almost wrong.
Too bright.
Too alive.
Lucia's eyes closed briefly.
Not long enough for anyone else to notice.
Long enough for Maya to understand.
"He always watches first," Lucia said.
Maya felt that settle deep.
Not theory.
Memory.
"Lucia…" Maya started.
This was the part she couldn't soften.
"We don't know what he looks like."
Silence followed.
Not empty.
Heavy.
Lucia didn't look at the kids.
Didn't look at her husband.
Just stood there, completely still—like everything else in the room had faded out except that one sentence.
Then she looked at Maya.
Really looked at her.
And something in her expression shifted.
Not fear.
Not hesitation.
Decision.
"I know, it's why I'm here." she swallows wrapping her arms around herself. "I do."