For a moment, no one moved.
The house felt like it was waiting for permission to breathe again—lights steady, generator humming, everything technically working while something fundamental had gone wrong underneath it all. Justin stood near the television, remote still in his hand, staring at the blank screen like it might flicker back on if he willed it hard enough.
It didn't.
Tally hovered a few feet away, arms wrapped around herself, shoulders tight. She looked smaller like this, stripped of movement and attitude, fear creeping in through the cracks she usually kept sealed. Justin noticed it and hated that he noticed. Hated that this was the moment it was happening.
"That's not real," she said finally. Not loud. Not dramatic. Just stubborn. "It can't be."
Justin didn't answer right away. He was listening—to the generator, to the distant noise outside, to Mari's uneven breathing behind him.
Mari spoke instead. "We should turn it off."
Tally snapped her head around. "Why? So it disappears?"
Mari flinched. Just a little. She turned away and paced a few steps, fingers lacing together and unlacing again like she was trying not to come apart.
Justin clicked the television off.
The sudden quiet was worse.
Sirens screamed outside—closer now, no longer passing through but stacking on top of each other until the sound blurred into something endless and raw. Somewhere nearby, something heavy gave way. Metal bent. Glass shattered.
Tally jumped. "Okay. Okay." She laughed once, sharp and hollow. "This is just… information lag. News always makes it worse than it is."
Justin nodded because it was easier than arguing. "Yeah."
The word felt empty in his mouth.
Tally started pacing—short, aggressive steps that didn't go anywhere. "Dad's on base. Mom's at the hospital. They know what's happening. They'll call."
Mari checked her phone again. "Still nothing."
"Cell towers are overloaded," Tally said quickly. "Everyone's calling everyone."
Justin's eyes drifted—not to the window, but to the front door. He didn't look at it directly. He didn't need to.
Another scream cut through the air.
Closer than the last.
It stopped too abruptly.
Tally froze mid-step.
Her gaze dropped.
The pink backpack sat at the base of the stairs, small and unmistakable.
Ella Belle's.
Justin felt the shift in the room before Tally said anything—felt it in his chest, the way the air seemed to thin all at once.
"…What time is it?" she asked.
Justin checked his phone. "2:17."
Her face drained. "Ella's home by three. Earlier on short days."
Mari nodded slowly. "You said someone brings her?"
"Yes," Tally said too fast. "Aftercare. She picks her up."
Justin straightened. "Have you called her?"
Tally already had her phone out, fingers shaking as she tried anyway.
No service.
Again.
Nothing.
"It's fine," she said immediately, too loud. "Aftercare runs late sometimes."
Justin nodded. "Especially today."
She shot him a look. "Don't say it like that."
Mari didn't like the way they were talking either. She walked to the window and peeked out carefully.
The cul-de-sac was empty.
No familiar car. No movement. No normal.
"She should be here," Tally whispered.
Justin stepped beside her. "Tal. Breathe."
"I am breathing."
"You're spiraling."
"She's six," Tally snapped. "She's six, Justin."
Mari's eyes flicked to the backpack, then away.
"We don't know she's not coming," Justin said carefully. "Traffic's a mess. Roads are blocked."
"Then why hasn't she called?" Tally demanded.
No one answered.
The truth slipped in sideways.
Tally grabbed the landline from the wall and punched in the caregiver's number.
Busy signal.
Again.
Nothing.
"This doesn't make sense," she whispered.
Justin clenched his jaw. "Tal—"
"No," she snapped. "We are not doing worst-case scenarios."
Another explosion boomed nearby. The windows rattled.
Mari gasped. The generator flickered, then steadied.
Tally looked around the room like she was seeing it for the first time—the pencil marks on the wall, the unicorn on the couch, the scuffed spot where Ella always dropped her shoes.
"She would've run in yelling," Tally said softly. "She always does."
Justin closed his eyes.
Mari stepped closer to him, lowering her voice. "Justin."
Tally's head snapped up. "What does that mean?"
Justin didn't answer right away.
Mari leaned in, just enough that Tally couldn't hear clearly. "We can't keep pretending," she said under her breath. "Not about this."
Justin shook his head slightly. "Not now."
"You said we would—"
"I said when it was safe."
Tally took a step closer without meaning to.
"…I can't do this alone," Mari whispered.
Justin's reply came quieter. "You're not alone."
Tally stopped short.
Her stomach twisted.
She didn't hear everything. Just enough.
Enough to know something was wrong. Enough to know she was being left out.
She laughed once, brittle. "Wow. Cool. Love the secret meeting."
Justin turned. "Tal—"
"No, it's fine," she snapped. "Clearly you two have your own thing going on."
Mari straightened, face tight. "This isn't about you."
That landed harder than anything else.
Tally's eyes flashed. "Everything is about me right now. That's my sister."
Mari took a breath. "Then we need to act."
Justin nodded. "We are."
He moved to the center of the room, grounding himself. "We're not waiting. We're not panicking. We're going to get Ella."
Tally shook her head. "She's coming here."
"What if she can't?" Mari asked quietly.
That broke her.
Tally sank onto the couch. "I was supposed to be there."
Justin knelt in front of her. "This is not your fault."
Tears spilled freely now. "I didn't even think about her."
Justin pulled her into a tight hug, holding her while she cried.
Outside, something slammed against the house.
Not the door.
Nearby.
A scrape followed—slow, deliberate.
"That's not her," Tally whispered.
Justin stood, grabbing the flashlight. "Whatever it is, it's not waiting."
Mari's eyes went to the backpack.
Then to Justin.
Then away.
She said nothing.
But the truth—whatever it was—sat between them now, heavy and unfinished.
The generator hummed.
The lights stayed on.
And somewhere out there, Ella Belle was still missing.