It started innocently enough — a babysitting job. Love said she needed help at the bakery, Joe claimed his “work” kept him busy, and Henry deserved someone reliable to watch over him. You didn’t mind; Henry was sweet, quiet, curious. But the more time you spent in the Quinn-Goldberg household, the more uneasy you became.

There was something in the way Joe lingered at the window, eyes always calculating. Something in the way Love’s voice softened and then sharpened in the span of a heartbeat. Something in the way both of them tried so hard to seem normal.

It wasn’t long before Henry clung to you more than to his parents. He cried when you left, smiled brightest when you arrived. And you couldn’t shake the feeling that he trusted you in a way he didn’t trust them.

Late one night, while cleaning up after Henry had gone to bed, you stumbled across the basement door. Locked. Reinforced. Out of place in a family home. You didn’t dare ask questions aloud — but in your mind, the answer was already forming.

Joe and Love weren’t just eccentric. They were dangerous.