Chapter 2
The plastic remote felt suddenly heavy in Mark's palm as he stared down at the strange marking near the baseboard. It wasn't a child's scribble or accidental scratch; the lines were deep, precise, and freshly gouged into the white wood, smelling faintly of burning timber. Sarah knelt beside Leo, her fingers gently pulling the damp gray washcloth from his small fist, but her eyes remained locked on the geometric pattern. It looked suspiciously like the logo of the logistics firm Mark had resigned from six months ago—the exact company that had quietly settled out of court after a major data breach tied directly to his personal laptop.
"You didn't do this," Sarah whispered, her voice trembling as she traced the edge of the carving with a fingernail. "Mark, tell me you didn't bring work into this house again. Tell me our son isn't repeating phrases from people who know where we live."
Mark shook his head, taking a hesitant step back toward the sofa. "I haven't logged into that network since the day I handed over my credentials. You know that. I destroyed the hard drives in the garage incinerator."
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"Did you?" Sarah stood up, her face pale under the kitchen lights. "Because Leo just quoted your former supervisor word-for-word. 'Mommy tired' isn't something a two-year-old invents while playing laundry. That was Arthur Vance’s favorite condescending remark whenever I called his office asking why you were working seventy-hour weeks."
The front door suddenly rattled. It wasn't a knock, but a firm, rhythmic testing of the deadbolt, followed by the faint sound of heavy boots scraping against the welcome mat outside. Mark raised a finger to his lips, signaling silence, while Leo simply turned around, crossed his arms with a surprisingly confident smile, and walked toward the hallway without a single word of hesitation.
