The tall, slim burglar finally spoke.
"I've completed a perimeter sweep," he said calmly, his voice low and precise. "No neighbors. No staff. No other surprises." His gaze flicked briefly toward the windows, then back to the leader. "No other humans around. No way in or out. Everywhere is on total lockdown."
The leader's posture relaxed even further. "Excellent," he said, pleased. "I do appreciate thoroughness."
Jen's heart sank.
The leader straightened and clapped his hands once. "All right. Let's make everyone comfortable."
That was when the duffle bags came out.
They were unzipped methodically, revealing coils of zip ties, rope, tape, and tools Jen didn't recognize but instinctively feared. The calm burglar behind the twins moved first, stepping forward with quiet efficiency.
"One at a time," the leader said pleasantly. "No sudden movements. Let's not frighten the children."
Amy whimpered as her wrists were pulled together and bound tightly. David's jaw clenched as the ties were fastened around his hands. The twins were next—handled with unsettling gentleness, their small wrists secured as if this were some practiced routine.
When it was Jen's turn, her pulse thundered in her ears. The tall burglar approached her, guiding her hands together. His grip was firm but not rough. She forced herself to breathe evenly, to appear compliant.
The leader watched them all with interest, tilting his head. "So," he said conversationally, "I guess you are the man of the house." He nodded toward David. "And you are the woman of the house." His gaze slid to Amy.
Then his eyes landed on Jen.
"But who," he asked, voice sharpening slightly, "is she?"
Silence stretched across the table.
David swallowed hard. For the first time since the masked people appeared, he spoke. "Who are you people?" His voice trembled despite the effort to steady it. "What do you want?"
The leader's head snapped toward him.
"No," he said coldly. "I will be the only one asking questions tonight."
David fell silent.
The leader turned back to Jen. "I'll ask again. Who are you?"
Jen's throat felt dry, but she forced the words out. "I'm just a guest."
For a moment, there was nothing.
Then the leader laughed.
It was light, almost amused, as though she had told a joke. "How unfortunate," he said. "Of all nights to be a guest, it had to be this night." He shook his head. "What luck."
Amy squeezed her eyes shut.
The leader exhaled slowly and waved a hand toward the tall burglar. "Take the children," he said. "And the guest. Upstairs."
He glanced at Amy and David. "I need to discuss some matters with the homeowners."
The tall burglar stepped forward, motioning for the twins to stand. They obeyed immediately, fear keeping them quiet. Jen rose as well, her legs weak but steady enough.
That's when she saw it, a table knife.
As he reached to help her, Jen made her move.
She stumbled—deliberately—her foot catching on the chair leg. She let out a small gasp and pitched forward, colliding with the table.
"Careful," the calm burglar warned.
"I'm sorry," Jen muttered, clutching the edge of the table as if trying to regain balance.
In that split second, her fingers brushed against cold metal.
A table knife.
Her heart hammered, but she didn't hesitate. With a quick, practiced motion she slid it up into the inside of her jacket, concealing it beneath the fabric as she straightened.
No one noticed.
The tall burglar guided them toward the stairs, his hand firm on Jen's arm. She kept her head down, forcing herself to move normally, to breathe normally, even as adrenaline screamed through her veins.
At the top of the stairs, he ushered them into a bedroom—large, neatly kept, too peaceful. The twins huddled together on the bed, eyes wide.
"Sit," he instructed.
They did.
He backed out, closed the door, and locked it with a decisive click. Then he remained outside, his shadow visible beneath the doorframe as he took position to stand guard.
Inside the room, silence fell again.
Jen slowly exhaled, her fingers brushing the hidden knife in her jacket.
For the first time since waking up at the table, she felt something other than fear.
She felt a fragile, dangerous spark of hope.