Relief spread across his face instantly.
We left the airport and drove, taking a longer route than usual. When we reached our neighborhood, I stopped a short distance away, keeping the car hidden from view.
Our house looked unchanged. Quiet. Still.
We waited.
After a few minutes, a dark van appeared, moving slowly down the street. It stopped near our home. Two men stepped out and approached the door with purpose. One of them used a key.
They entered.
A moment later, I noticed smoke.
Then flames.
The realization hit all at once.
We had been meant to be inside.
Kenzo held onto me as we watched from a distance, the glow of the fire reflecting in the night. Sirens approached, and the van disappeared as quickly as it had arrived.
My phone vibrated. A message from Quasi appeared on the screen, simple and calm.
I stared at it, then at the house.
And in that moment, everything became clear.
If I had ignored my son’s fear, we would have been there.
Asleep.
And as the fire spread, one thought settled heavily in my mind—this was not the end of it.
