The room stilled. “Somebody” in a child’s mouth almost always means an adult.
Ethan’s gaze snapped to Sofia. “Who said that, Lily?”
Sofia flinched.
Lily answered first, voice tiny: “The person who comes when it’s dark.”
Sofia exhaled—a shaky mix of relief and dread.
Ethan’s mouth dried. “What person?”
“The one with quiet shoes,” Lily whispered. “The one who smells like your office.”
Ethan’s heart lurched. Crisp cologne, fresh paper, sharp mint hand sanitizer—that exact combination lived in his office. It had no business inside a four-year-old’s bedroom at night.
He turned slowly to Sofia. “What is she talking about?”
Sofia rose carefully, keeping distance. “I didn’t want to alarm you over the phone while you were traveling. You kept saying you were swamped. But something’s been wrong for weeks. Lily wakes almost every night saying someone comes in. I checked windows, closets—I even slept in the chair here twice. Nothing happened those nights. Then two weeks ago I found that music box under her pillow. It wasn’t here before.”
Ethan stared at the box as though it might strike.