Mom pushes the heavy wooden bar across the kitchen door, an old defense rarely used in daylight. Maya hovers by the stairs, fidgeting with Mr. Whiskers' ears - not her usual gentle playing, but sharp, anxious tugs that threaten to loosen the stitching. She keeps glancing at me with something I've never seen in her eyes before. Fear? Not of what's outside, but... of me?

Through the windows, morning light still fills the square where just moments ago our ordered village life shattered into chaos. The sound of guards organizing reaches us - Dad's voice among them, strangely formal as he receives his assignment.

I sink into one of our kitchen chairs. The kitchen should feel safe - it's where Mom bakes bread, where Maya does her drawings, where we've spent countless normal mornings. But I don't feel safe. Nowhere feels safe anymore.

Mom's movements are controlled, careful as she positions herself to keep the windows in view. The heavy iron cooking pot she used against the creature sits by the door where she dropped it in our rush to get inside, a dull reminder of how close danger had come. Finally, Mom turns from watching the square, her hands gripping a kitchen towel so tight I can see her knuckles whiten.

"Julie, my dear," her voice comes soft but urgent, "your grandmother's journal. I know you had it. Where is it now?"

I freeze, feeling caught between truths. Before I can respond, Maya pipes up from her spot on the stairs.

"Is it because of that thing she took?" she asks, hugging Mr. Whiskers closer. "The one that made Julie cry the other day?"

I shoot Maya a look, but the damage is done.

Mom's eyes find mine, sharp with sudden understanding. "Your grandmother's journal?" Her voice carries an urgency that makes my stomach drop. "What is she talking about Julie? Please tell me Claire doesn't have the journal."

The memory of that afternoon floods back - Claire's face twisted with fear, her hands clutching the journal like a shield. "She... she found it when we were studying in my room," I begin, the words coming slowly. "We were reading it together, trying to understand about the whispers, about what's happening to me. But then she got scared. Said I was going to end up..." I swallow hard, "...end up like grandmother. That she couldn't let that happen."

"She just took it?" Mom asks, sinking into the chair across from me. "Just like that?"

I shake my head, feeling tears prick at my eyes. "I tried to stop her. We argued. She said she was protecting me, like..." I look up at Mom, "Like you tried to protect me by hiding it all these years. She hasn't spoken to me since. Won't even look at me at school."

Mom's hands clench the towel so tight I hear threads snap. "Protecting you?" Her voice cracks. "Julie, you don't understand - that journal contains vital knowledge. Things your grandmother discovered about the barriers, about these creatures. Things we desperately need now."

She stands abruptly, her chair scraping against the floor. "I'll speak with Sven. There's bound to be another meeting after what happened this morning. I'll talk to Claire's parents then, get the journal back." Her face softens as she looks at me. "We should have done this differently. All of us. Keeping secrets, hiding truths... look where it's got us."

"But what about before?" The words burst out before I can stop them, hot with sudden anger. "You had that journal in the attic for years. Years! And now suddenly we desperately need it?" I push back from the table, my chair scraping against the floor. "You could have prepared, could have learned what grandmother knew. Instead you hid everything away until it was too late, and now-"

"Julie-" Mom starts, but I'm not finished.

"Now the creatures are here, the barriers are failing, and we're all just supposed to catch up with what grandmother knew ages ago?" My hands shake as I grip the edge of the table. "Maybe if you'd read it sooner, if you'd tried to understand instead of hiding it away, we wouldn't be-"

Maya's sharp gasp cuts me off. She stands frozen on the stairs, Mr. Whiskers dangling forgotten from one hand, staring at something through the window. Something that makes all our arguing suddenly seem very, very small.

My voice cracks on the last word as all the fear and anger suddenly drain away, leaving me empty. Mom crosses the kitchen in two quick steps, pulling me into her arms like she did when I was little. I smell the familiar lavender she sews into her clothes, feel her heart beating fast against my cheek.

"Oh, my brave girl," she whispers into my hair. "You're right. You're absolutely right." Her arms tighten around me as her voice wavers. "That journal... every time I looked at it, all I could see was your grandmother walking into the forest that last time. The way she smiled at me, like she knew..." She takes a shaky breath. "I wasn't strong enough to face what was in those pages. Not then. Maybe not even now."

"Mom, I-" but she shakes her head, cutting me off gently.

"No, let me finish. I thought I was protecting you, but really... I was protecting myself. From the truth, from what happened to her. From what might happen to you." Her fingers brush my cheek, wiping away tears I hadn't realized were falling. "But you're stronger than I was. Just like she was."

Maya's voice comes so quiet we almost miss it: "Papa's outside."

We turn to the window. Dad stands with the other guards, their borrowed weapons catching the morning light. Elder Sven moves between them, assigning positions with careful precision. Even from here, I can see how Dad's farmer's clothes sit wrong under the unfamiliar sword belt, how his hands keep checking the weapon like it might disappear if he doesn't touch it.

Mom's arms tighten around me again. Through the window, we watch Dad receive his assignment, his shoulders straight despite the fear we can see in every line of his body. Other fathers stand with him - Claire's, Finn's, all of them looking somehow smaller in their new roles as defenders.

"We'll get the journal back," Mom says softly. "Together. And this time, we'll face what's in those pages the way we should have years ago." She kisses the top of my head. "As a family."

I wonder if we'll have time enough to learn what grandmother knew. To understand what she tried to warn us about all those years ago.

The day drags endlessly, each hour marked by new changes to our village's familiar rhythms. I watch from windows as neighbors nail boards across their shutters, while others hurry between houses carrying bundles of Ursa's protective herbs. The usual afternoon sounds - children playing, traders calling their wares, neighbors chatting over fences - are replaced by the thud of hammers and scrape of furniture being pushed against doors.

Maya hovers near me as I sit by the kitchen window, her fingers nervously twisting Mr. Whiskers' ears until Mom tells her to stop before she pulls them off entirely.

"Will there be school tomorrow?" she asks, voice small. "Emma said her mama won't let her go anymore."

Mom pauses in her nervous cleaning - she's wiped the same counter three times now. "We'll... we'll see what Elder Sven decides, dear."

"But what about Mrs. Reed's reading circle? And the kittens?" Maya's lower lip trembles. "They'll miss me if I don't visit."

I catch Mom's hands shaking slightly as she folds another kitchen towel that doesn't need folding. "The kittens will understand, sweetheart. For now, we need to stay inside where it's safe."

"Like grandmother did?" The words slip out before I can stop them. Mom's hands freeze on the towel, her knuckles whitening.

You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

The silence stretches until Maya breaks it with another question: "Can Julie and I at least play in the garden?"

"No!" Mom's sharp tone makes us both jump. She softens immediately, crossing the kitchen to stroke Maya's hair. "No, dear. Not until... not until things are safer."

The afternoon creeps by. I try to focus on schoolwork, but can’t concentrate. Maya attempts to play with her toys, but even her games seem subdued - her usual stories about brave adventurers replaced by quiet murmurs to Mr. Whiskers about "pretty friends" who are "getting hungrier."

I can't stand these pretty friends anymore.

When Mom finally starts preparing dinner, the familiar routine feels almost surreal. We are all silent.

"Julie, could you set the table?" Mom asks, her movements sharp and quick as she chops vegetables. "Your father will need a good meal before his night watch."

Maya trails after me as I gather plates, unwilling to be more than arm's length away. "Will Papa be home soon?"

As if summoned by her question, Dad appears in the doorway. His farmer's clothes look strange with the borrowed sword belt, and his face carries new lines of worry.

Dinner itself is a tense affair. The empty chair where Claire usually sits on study nights seems to mock me. Mom keeps finding reasons to check the windows, while Dad's eyes constantly move to his sword by the door. Even Maya just pushes food around her plate, Mr. Whiskers propped beside her but failing to inspire her usual chatter.

"I'm tired," I announce as soon as I can reasonably excuse myself. "I think I'll go to bed early."

Maya's head snaps up, her fork clattering against her plate. "Can I sleep with you tonight? Please?"

I start to refuse, but something in her eyes stops me. Fear, yes, but also... understanding? "Of course," I say, trying to sound normal. "But you have to actually sleep, not just talk to Mr. Whiskers all night."

Mom looks relieved at this show of sisterly responsibility. "That's probably best. It's been a long day for everyone."

Maya practically runs in our room, clutching Mr. Whiskers to her chest. I follow more slowly, my mind already on the window and what I'll do once she falls asleep.

"Goodnight, girls," Mom calls up. "Remember - no matter what you hear, stay in your room tonight."

In our bedroom, Maya curls against me like she did when she was smaller, Mr. Whiskers squished between us. Her breathing gradually steadies into sleep, but her small fingers maintain their grip on my nightdress.

Maya fell asleep. Her breathing has been steady for several minutes now, her grip on my nightdress finally loosened. Mr. Whiskers lies half-crushed between us, one ear slightly bent from her nervous tugging earlier.

I count to one hundred in my head, then begin the delicate process of sliding away from her warmth. Through our thin curtains, moonlight casts strange patterns across the floor - patterns that seem to shift and writhe when I look at them too long. Dad's heavy boots had scraped across the porch about ten minutes ago - his evening patrol starting right on time.

Moving like water between stones, I ease my feet to the floor, testing each board before putting my full weight down. The window isn't far - just three careful steps across our room. Three steps between me and the answers I desperately need. Through the glass, I can see guards' torches moving along the village walls, their lights making the shadows dance.

A floorboard creaks under my foot, the sound impossibly loud in the quiet room. I freeze, heart thundering against my ribs. But Maya doesn't stir.

Two more steps.

One.

My fingers have barely touched the window latch when something yanks sharply at my nightdress.

"Don't."

I spin around, barely holding back a cry. Maya is sitting up in bed, staring at me, Mr. Whiskers dangling forgotten from her hand.

"Go back to sleep," I whisper. "You're supposed to be asleep."

"You can't go out," she says. "Mom will be so angry. And what if Claire doesn't come? It's dangerous!"

I kneel beside the bed and take her hands in mine. "Maya, listen. I need to do this. I need to understand what's happening - to the village, to me."

"But Mom said never to go out. Never ever."

"I know. But sometimes... sometimes we have to make hard choices. Even if others don't understand."

Maya presses her lips together, conflicted. "What if something happens to you? What if you don't come back?"

"I will come back. I promise." I squeeze her hands tighter. "But I need your help. You have to pretend to be asleep. If anyone checks, they'll think I waited until you were sleeping soundly before leaving. You won't get in trouble."

"Julie..." Her lip trembles. "I'm scared."

"Trust me," I whisper. "Like I trust you."

Maya nods slowly, clutching Mr. Whiskers closer as she settles back against her pillow. "Be careful," she mumbles, eyes already heavy with sleep. I tuck the blanket around her shoulders, trying to ignore how my hands shake slightly.

The window beckons - beyond it lies darkness and danger, but also answers. Claire is out there somewhere, waiting with grandmother's journal. Each minute I delay puts her at greater risk.

The window opens with a soft creak that sounds impossibly loud. Cold night air bites through my thin nightdress as I swing one leg over the sill, then the other. For a moment, I hesitate - Mom's warnings, Dad's worried eyes, Maya's strange new wisdom all echo in my mind.

A guard's torch passes below, and I press flat against the wall, barely breathing. The rough stones catch at my nightdress, threatening to tear. When the light passes, I begin my careful descent, using the familiar handholds I've known since Claire and I first started sneaking out together.

My bare feet touch grass, instantly soaking up the evening dew. I stay close to the wall, moving from shadow to shadow. Years of childhood games have taught me every safe path, every quiet corner.

The usual peaceful darkness of our village is replaced by something watchful. Every shadow could hide a creature with crystal whiskers, every rustle could be something moving just out of sight. But Claire is waiting, and with her, grandmother's journal. The answers I need.

I'm halfway to our meeting spot when heavy footsteps sound behind me - not the careful tread of a guard, but someone moving with purpose. Before I can turn, before I can run, a hand clamps down on my arm with bruising force.

"What do you think you're doing?" Dad's voice, low and dangerous.

I try to pull away, but his grip only tightens. "Dad, you're hurting-"

The words come out like broken glass. "Do you have any idea what's out here? What could have found you instead of me?" His voice rising. "Do you want to die? Is that what you want?"

"NO! I just needed to understand-"

"Understand?" He gives me a sharp shake that makes my teeth rattle. "You understand nothing. You're a child playing with things that could destroy you." The borrowed sword at his hip catches moonlight as he turns. "Home. Now."

The walk back feels endless. Each step under Dad's iron grip reminds me how badly I've miscalculated. When we reach the house, he shoves the door open with enough force to make the hinges shriek.

Mom spins from where she's been pacing. Her face cycles through emotions faster than I can track - relief, confusion, understanding, betrayal.

"She was out in the village," Dad's voice carries more disappointment than anger now. "You were supposed to keep her here. Safe."

"I thought-" Mom starts, but Dad cuts her off.

"Keep her inside, or I'll start locking her in myself." He strides back out into the night, the door slamming behind him with terrible finality.

The silence stretches between us like a living thing. I open my mouth - to explain, to apologize, to say anything that might fix this - but Mom moves faster than thought.

The slap cracks across my face like lightning. My head snaps sideways, and for a moment, everything goes white. When my vision clears, I'm still standing frozen, my cheek burning, unable to process what just happened. Mom has never - not once in my whole life -

"I trusted you." Her voice shakes. "After everything happening, after all our warnings... I trusted you to at least keep yourself safe."

The disappointment in her voice hurts worse than the slap. I touch my cheek gently, feeling heat radiate under my fingers. Mom's hands tremble as she grips the kitchen counter, her knuckles going white. "Go to your room," she whispers. "I can't... I can't even look at you right now."

Each heartbeat feels like the distance between earth and stars - an endless journey there and back again. My cheek throbs, but the shame burns hotter. I thought I was being brave, doing what needed to be done. Instead, I've only proved them right about needing to be protected.

Maya sits up as I enter our room, her eyes huge in the darkness. She reaches for my face with gentle fingers, barely touching the tender skin. "Does it hurt?"

I try to answer but can't past the lump in my throat. Maya pulls me down beside her, her small hand still cradling my cheek.

"I tried to stop you," she whispers, but there's no accusation in her voice. Just sadness, like she knew this would happen. Maybe she did.

I lie awake in the darkness with glazed eyes. Is Claire still out there, waiting by the old elm tree? Every minute that passes puts her in more danger. The creatures that stalk our nights don't care about childhood friendships or broken promises, journals or protective parents.

The thought chases itself through my mind as sleep refuses to come: my best friend is out there somewhere, alone with grandmother's journal, possibly waiting for me. And all I can do is lie here, helpless, while the night grows deeper and more dangerous with each passing moment.