Morning air carried a crispness that felt like a warning. Sunlight spilled unevenly through the blinds, painting the walls in stripes of gold and shadow. I stood by the window, staring out at the street below, trying to pretend that everything was normal, though my pulse thudded painfully against my ribs.
Daniel appeared first, sliding the door open just enough to step in. "You're up early," he said with that familiar grin, casual, almost friendly. But I felt the edge beneath it, the hidden calculation.
"I couldn't sleep," I said quietly, trying not to let my fear show.
He nodded, leaning against the doorframe. "The house… it gets to everyone eventually. You'll learn which shadows are safe."
I swallowed. Which shadows are safe? I didn't know, and the thought made my stomach twist.
Kelvin appeared from behind Daniel, stretching lazily. "Breakfast is almost ready. You coming, or staying in your cave?"
I shook my head. "I'll join in a moment."
Victor stayed at the table silently, his eyes fixed on me longer than necessary. I could feel the weight of his gaze like a hand pressing against my chest. Emeka stood near the kitchen, silent, calm, watching me carefully, eyes flicking toward every movement.
Mama Agnes appeared in the hallway then, quiet as always. She spoke softly, but each word carried an unshakable authority:
"Trust is a currency here. Be careful who you give it to. And be careful what you give away."
I nodded, the weight of her words pressing down on me. Survival wasn't just about being quiet. It was about understanding every move, every glance, every whispered word.
I stepped into the kitchen. The boys were already there, each one occupying his own space with subtle dominance. Daniel laughed, pouring himself a cup of coffee. Kelvin nudged him with his elbow, smirking. Victor continued to watch silently, and Emeka offered me a small, reassuring nod.
"You okay?" Emeka asked quietly, pulling a chair out for me.
I nodded, taking my seat carefully. The tea he had placed earlier was still warm, and I drank slowly, trying to calm the storm in my chest.
Daniel leaned toward me, voice low. "So… the app. You did what I said?"
I nodded, my fingers tightening around my cup. "Yes."
"And?" he asked, tone playful but with an undercurrent I couldn't ignore.
"It froze," I whispered.
Daniel's grin didn't waver. "Interesting. You've just learned one of the first rules here. Sometimes, even following instructions doesn't guarantee results. Survival isn't about following blindly—it's about adapting."
Kelvin laughed softly. "Better learn that quick. This house… it doesn't forgive mistakes lightly."
I swallowed hard, realizing that what I thought was a simple, harmless investment had become my first lesson in the house's invisible rules.
After breakfast, Daniel suggested a walk outside, and I followed, careful to match his pace. Kelvin trailed behind, Victor lingered at the house entrance, and Emeka waited until we returned.
The city streets were alive with noise and motion, but I barely noticed. My mind was consumed with thoughts of the house, the note, and Gerard's voice in my ear. He had warned me that some people were dangerous. Now I understood the depth of that danger—but the house itself was the predator, patient, calculating.
Daniel smiled at me, seemingly lighthearted, yet every word carried weight. "See, Sirri, the world is full of opportunities. Some good, some… not so good. You'll find out which is which soon enough."
I nodded silently, too afraid to ask questions I wasn't ready to hear answers to.
Back at the house, I discovered that the boys had arranged something new. A small challenge, disguised as a game. Each of us was to share something about our past that we had never told anyone. The purpose was unclear, but the tone was playful, the stakes hidden.
Daniel spoke first, his story casual, lighthearted. Kelvin followed, exaggerating details, making the room laugh. Victor remained quiet, giving only glimpses of his history. Emeka shared honestly but briefly.
Then it was my turn. My chest tightened, my throat dry. How much do I reveal? How much will the house use against me?
I spoke carefully, omitting details that could betray me. Even in this small exercise, I felt the invisible weight of observation. The house wasn't just listening—it was remembering, calculating, storing information like a predator storing prey.
Afterward, Daniel smiled. "Not bad. You're learning fast."
Kelvin laughed. "Just don't get too comfortable. Comfort kills here."
Mama Agnes appeared suddenly, placing a hand lightly on my shoulder. "Every word, every movement… consider what it gives away. Trust is precious, and here, every mistake is remembered."
I nodded, heart pounding. The walls, the boys, the shadows—they all waited.
Night came with silence, broken only by distant sounds outside and the occasional creak of floorboards. I lay on my bed, listening, thinking, remembering Gerard's voice. Even as I tried to focus on comfort, I felt the invisible lines of the house tightening around me.
This is a test. Every laugh, every glance, every action matters.
And I realized, fully, that the house had begun to teach me its first rules:
Watch carefully.
Trust selectively.
Every choice carries weight.
And the house? It was patient.
The night had a weight I could feel pressing against my chest. The house was quieter now, but the silence was heavier than the daytime chaos. Shadows stretched across the walls like fingers, reaching for corners where light dared not linger.
I sat on my bed, knees pulled to my chest, the note from before folded and pressed in my palm: We know everything.
A soft knock came at my door. My heart leapt. Daniel.
"Sirri," he said, his voice low, coaxing. "Are you awake? I wanted to check on you."
I remained still, listening. The creak of the floor under his shoes was deliberate, careful, as if he wanted me to notice every step.
"I'm fine," I whispered, hoping my voice sounded steady.
"I know you're not," he said, almost teasing, almost serious. "Look, this house… it teaches lessons. Some are subtle, some are loud. You'll figure out which soon enough."
The words chilled me. I wanted to run, to leave the room, but my legs refused. Every step outside felt like a gamble, every glance a test.
Kelvin's laugh came from the living room, sharp and sudden. "She's already trembling," he said to no one in particular. "I like it."
Victor didn't speak, only stared at me from across the hall. His eyes were dark, unblinking, and I couldn't tell if he was curious, calculating, or waiting for me to fail.
Emeka appeared at the doorway again, this time carrying a small notebook. "You might want to write things down," he suggested quietly. "Observations, patterns… whatever helps you stay ahead."
I took the notebook, shaking slightly. Writing didn't make me feel safer; it made me aware. Aware of everything I had ignored, everything I had hidden, everything I couldn't trust.
Daniel sat on the edge of my bed, casual but not relaxed. "You've been through a lot," he said. "Money troubles, moving herIt'st's a lot for anyone. But the house doesn't care about your past. It only cares about what you do now."
Kelvin leaned against the wall, smirking. "And it never forgets. Not a single thing."
I nodded silently, wishing Gerard could be here, holding my hand, reminding me I wasn't alone. But even thinking of him felt dangerous; the house listened.
Then Daniel smirked and leaned closer. "Tell me, Sirri… who can you trust here?"
I froze. The question wasn't casual. It wasn't meant for conversation. It was a challenge.
"I… I don't know," I whispered, voice barely audible.
He smiled, eyes gleaming. "Good answer. Keep that in mind. If you say too much, too soon… things can get complicated."
Later, I found myself in the kitchen, alone with Emeka. He placed a cup of tea in front of me, warm and fragrant. "This house… it has rules," he said softly. "You won't see them written anywhere. You won't hear them speak directly. But they exist. And you will learn them—quickly, or painfully."
I looked up at him. "How do you know?"
He didn't answer. He simply nodded toward the living room, where I could hear Daniel and Kelvin whispering, plotting, calculating.
Victor's presence in the shadows remained, silent, heavy, as if he was cataloging every move I made.
The first real test came the next morning. A challenge disguised as a simple question. Mama Agnes called us together in the living room. "You will each share a secret," she said calmly. "Something no one else knows. And listen carefully to the others. What you hear… will guide you."
Daniel went first, speaking easily, almost carelessly. Kelvin exaggerated his story for laughs. Victor stayed quiet but offered hints of his past, a shadof thef a truth. Emeka's story was briehonest sand t, measured.
Then it was my turn.
I felt the walls close in. My chest tightened, my throat dry. Every word had weight, every omission carried risk. I spoke carefully, holding back the truths that could be used against me.
When I finished, Daniel's grin returned. "Impressive," he said. "You're learning."
Kelvin laughed. "Just remember, Sirri… the house remembers everything."
Mama Agnes appeared behind me, placing a hand lightly on my shoulder. "And every choice you make… is noted. Don't let fear blind you. Don't let trust come too easily."
I nodded, heart hammering, realizing that survival here wasn't about hiding—it was about navigating a web of shadows, whispers, and half-truths.
Night fell again, colder than before. I lay on my bed, staring at the ceiling, thinking of Gerard's voice. You're not alone. I closed my eyes and tried to believe it, but the house seemed to sigh around me, pressing in with its invisible gaze.
Every laugh, every shadow, every glance from Daniel, Kelvin, Victor, or Emeka was a reminder: nothing here was accidental. Nothing here was safe.
And I knew, with a sinking certainty, that my first lessons were just beginning.