"David?" Clara's voice came out smaller than she intended, her hands rising instinctively in front of her, some old animal instinct recognizing danger before her mind had fully caught up to the moment. He loomed over her, motionless, his grey pajamas damp at the collar, his chest rising and falling too fast for a man who had supposedly been sleeping beside her minutes before. "Don't," he said, though she hadn't moved. "Don't scream. Please. Just — give me a second." "You're scaring me." Clara pushed herself upright against the headboard, one hand instinctively moving to shield the curve of her stomach, seven months of pregnancy making every sudden movement feel dangerous in a way it never had before. David wasn't looking at her, not really — his eyes kept sliding to the bedroom door, to the hallway beyond it, as though he expected something to follow him through the dark. "David, what is happening—" The bedroom door burst open before he could answer, and Clara's mother and aunt stood framed in the hallway light, both women's faces caught somewhere between shock and a fear that looked, disturbingly, like recognition.