The moon was unusually bright that night.

  Its light washed over the quiet street, pale and calm, as if the world itself had decided nothing was wrong. The air was still. No sirens. No distant noise. Just the soft hum of a city pretending to sleep.

  Samaye was half-awake when his father suddenly stood up.

  Something in the movement was wrong.

  Too sharp. Too alert.

  “Stay here,” his father said quietly, already moving toward the hallway. His voice was calm, but his eyes were not.

  Samaye’s mother noticed it too. She didn’t ask questions. She pulled Samaye toward the storage space behind the inner wall—an old compartment meant for emergencies that had never truly been used.

  “Whatever happens,” she whispered, pressing him back, “don’t come out.”

  Samaye nodded.

  He didn’t understand why his heart was already racing.

  Stolen story; please report.

  ---

  The sound came softly at first.

  A shift in the air.

  A presence that didn’t belong.

  His father reached for the weapon kept in the cabinet.

  He never touched it.

  The shadows moved faster than thought.

  Something cut through the space between moments—too precise, too clean. Samaye’s father staggered, confusion crossing his face before pain could find him.

  His arms fell before his body did.

  The scream that followed wasn’t loud.

  It was broken.

  Samaye watched through the narrow gap in the wall, frozen, unable to breathe as his father collapsed, blood spreading across the floor where he had once stood firm.

  His mother ran to him without hesitation.

  “Don’t—” was all his father managed to say.

  The shadows didn’t pause.

  They moved again, indifferent, efficient.

  She fell beside him.

  Together.

  ---

  Samaye didn’t scream.

  He didn’t cry.

  His body refused to move as the figures stepped back, watching the lifeless forms on the floor. One of them tilted its head slightly, as if listening.

  For a moment, Samaye felt it.

  Eyes.

  Looking directly at him.

  The shadow paused.

  Then it turned away.

  The killers worked quickly after that—cleaning, erasing, burning. Flames swallowed the room, devouring the life Samaye had known, turning memories into smoke.

  He watched it all.

  Every second.

  When the fire finally died down, silence returned.

  The moon was still bright.

  ---

  Samaye stayed hidden long after the shadows were gone.

  He didn’t know how much time passed.

  When he finally stepped out, the house was no longer his home. It was a hollow shell filled with ash and absence.

  He sat on the floor.

  And stayed there.

  For three days, he did not leave.

  He did not eat.

  He did not drink.

  He did not sleep.

  He waited.

  For someone to come.

  For something to happen.

  For the world to correct itself.

  Nothing did.

  The clear moon moved on.

  And Samaye remained, staring at what was left, his childhood ending not with tears—but with silence.