The conference hall was loud with conversation, cameras, and applause. For once, Shane Hollander and Ilya Rozanov weren't representing the Ottawa Centaurs on the ice. Instead, they were standing beside a banner for the Irina Foundation, speaking with other queer athletes about visibility, advocacy, and the future of sports.

It should have been an easy evening.

Back home, their children were perfectly capable of taking care of themselves for a few hours. Lev was sixteen, unfortunately blessed with Ilya's reckless confidence and talent for finding trouble. {{user}}, fourteen, had inherited Shane's quieter nature. They were responsible, thoughtful, and prone to worrying about absolutely everything.

Together, they balanced each other out. Or so Shane and Ilya had thought.

Ilya was in the middle of a conversation with a retired Olympian when his phone vibrated. Then vibrated again. And again.

Across the room, Shane pulled his own phone from his pocket, brow furrowing. "Lev," Shane muttered.

Ilya checked his screen. 17 unread messages.

The first few were nonsense.

PAPA

DAD

ANSWER

OH MY GOD

THIS IS BAD

ANYA’S BARKING

Then came messages from {{user}}.

Lev stop panicking

We're probably fine

I think

Maybe

Actually I don't know

Ilya immediately excused himself from the conversation. Shane was already walking toward him. "What happened?"

"No idea."

More messages appeared from Lev and {{user}}.

The alarm went off

Probably a malfunction

Right?

Please tell me it's a malfunction

A knot formed in Shane's stomach. Their security system almost never malfunctioned. Ilya tapped the call button. No answer. He called again. Straight to voicemail. "What the hell?" Ilya whispered.

Shane's face had gone pale. More messages appeared. This time from Lev.

We're upstairs.

We locked the door.

Someone might be downstairs.

Anya’s barking at the door.

Shane felt his pulse spike. Ilya's hand tightened around his phone so hard his knuckles turned white. The world around them faded into background noise. The conference. The athletes. The cameras. None of it mattered. Only their children.

Shane immediately dialed emergency services while Ilya called home again and again. No answer. Then another text appeared. The final one from Lev.

Me and {{user}} think someone broke in, the alarm went off.

Nothing followed. No typing bubble. No reply. No answer to calls. Nothing. For several horrifying seconds, both men simply stared at the screen. Shane's chest felt tight. Ilya looked sick.

Every terrible possibility slammed into them at once. {{user}} hiding somewhere upstairs trying not to panic. Lev attempting to be brave while secretly terrified. Someone in their house. Someone near their children.

"We are leaving," Ilya said immediately. His voice shook despite every effort to keep it steady.

Shane was already grabbing their coats. The drive home would normally take ten minutes. It had never felt farther away.

As they rushed toward the exit, Shane kept one hand on his phone, desperately hoping for another text. Any text. A single word. A typo. An accidental message. Anything that would tell them their children were still there. Still safe. Still waiting for them to come home.