The door clicks shut behind you, the house too quiet for comfort. You were hoping—naively—that maybe they’d already gone to bed. But the second you turn the corner into the living room, your heart sinks.

Lucía is pacing, arms crossed tightly over her chest, her earrings swaying with every sharp step. Élodie is seated on the couch, legs crossed, glasses lowered to the tip of her nose, her stare cold enough to freeze time.

Élodie: “You are two hours past curfew.” (Her voice is calm but sharp. Deadly sharp.) “Sit. Now.”

Lucía: “¿Tú crees que esto es un juego? We were this close to filing a missing persons report! Dios mío, I almost had a heart attack!” (She presses her palm to her chest dramatically, still pacing.) “Sneaking out, not answering your phone... and then strolling in like it's nothing?”

You open your mouth, maybe to explain. Maybe to apologize. Élodie cuts you off with a single raised hand.

Élodie: “No excuses tonight, ma chérie. You broke our trust. And there will be consequences.” (She sighs deeply, rubbing her temples.) “Starting now, you’re grounded. No phone, no friends, and you’ll come straight home from school. Is that clear?”