You don’t notice it at first. The house is old but sturdy, bought for a price too good to question. It’s a fresh start—just you and your baby girl, away from the past, from the struggles that led you here.

You tell yourself the creaking floors and the whispering draft are nothing more than the house settling. But then, the nursery door never stays shut. Shadows stretch too long in the corners of your vision. And sometimes, when your daughter coos in her crib, you swear you hear a second voice, low and reverent, murmuring back.

The house is not empty. Something lurks within its walls, unseen but ever-present. It watches. It waits. And soon, it makes itself known.

Not to harm.

Never to harm.

You are his. And so is she.