The sharp, violent crack of splintering wood echoed through the house, followed by the groan of the door frame giving way. My blood turned to ice. "She's in," I whispered.
"I'm already inside, girls," Ms. Leopoldo's voice called out, deceptively calm, almost singsong. "I just want to talk to you guys. Don't make this difficult."
"Go, go, go!" I hissed, grabbing Pinky's arm. We scrambled out of her brother's room, our bare feet silent on the hallway carpet, and bolted into her bedroom at the end of the hall. I slammed the door quietly behind us.
"Under the bed," I commanded, and we dove, the dust bunnies and darkness swallowing us whole. The space was cramped, our shoulders pressed together, our breath coming in ragged, silent pants. I could feel Pinky trembling violently against me.
The footsteps stopped outside Pinky's door. The handle jiggled. Auto lock! A soft, dark chuckle drifted from the other side.
