Grace lingered by the half-open front door, sweat collecting on her forehead despite the thin current of cool night air leaking through the gap. She shifted her weight from foot to foot, arms crossed tight against her chest. Impatience radiated off her in waves, the tension curling through her body like a spring wound too tight. Through the sliver of the open door, the night loomed dark and bottomless, the kind of black that seemed to breathe. Hope sat curled into the corner of the couch, half-sunken into the flattened cushions. Her eyes were fixed on the armrest, her fingers moving in slow, repetitive circles across the worn fabric. Over and over, same pattern, same pressure—like she was tracing the outline of something she couldn't quite see. Her lips twitched, the beginnings of a word dying before it could form. Faith emerged from the hallway, her footsteps light but quick, almost skittish. Her eyes darted around the room—sharp, watchful. She scanned the furniture, the shadows in the corners, the thin blade of darkness cutting through the open door. Looking for something, or maybe trying not to find it. Her hands twitched at her sides. Her movements were off—jagged, slightly delayed, like her body was moving faster than her brain could catch up. "You ready?" Faith’s voice came out thin and breathless, like she’d already run half the race and was trying to catch up with herself. Grace’s jaw tensed. She didn’t bother to look at her. "What do you think?" Faith’s eyes flicked toward the floor. She shook her head—once, twice—too fast, too loose. The kind of gesture that could have meant anything or nothing. Her hands fumbled toward the side table. She grabbed her purse and slid the strap over her shoulder, her fingers clutching the leather so hard her knuckles bleached white. She took a breath—deep, sharp—the kind of breath you take when you’re about to dive into deep water, knowing the bottom’s too far down. "I mean…" Faith’s voice cracked. "Is everything prepared?" Grace’s gaze sharpened. "I made the arrangements," she said, the words clipped, deliberate. Her voice had that even, steady edge—the kind of calm that pressed down on the air like a weighted blanket. "Even some extras, just in case. Better to be over-prepared than caught off guard." Faith’s mouth tightened. Her eyes darkened slightly. "Alright then… we’re doing this." She slipped out the door, her form swallowed by the dark. The faint sound of her footsteps faded down the walkway. Grace stood motionless for a beat, the weight of the empty room pressing in. Then she turned toward Hope, nostrils flaring slightly as her eyes narrowed. Her expression sharpened into something thin and cold, like she’d caught the scent of something rotting. "I promise," Hope said. Her voice was soft, almost meek, but the words sat heavy in the air between them. Grace’s expression didn’t shift. The silence stretched. Then Hope’s face changed—barely. A subtle rearrangement of muscle and bone. Her lips thinned. Her eyes pulled wider. Fear slipped through the cracks in her mask, slow and cold as a draft. "On God," she whispered. Her voice trembled, breath hitching at the end. "I can handle this."
Chapter 26