The expert showed up right on time, stepping out of his truck with the calm professionalism of someone who had seen almost everything—yet even from a distance, something about his expression suggested he sensed this case would be different. He carried a heavy black case, its metal exterior scratched and dented from years of fieldwork. As he approached the house, he paused for a brief moment on the front steps, taking a slow breath as if preparing himself for whatever he was about to face.
Inside, Lily’s parents were pacing anxiously in the living room, the tension suffocating, thick enough to feel on the skin. Lily sat curled in a corner of the couch, knees against her chest, her eyes still wide with the strange mixture of curiosity and dread she’d felt ever since discovering the eggs beneath her bed the night before. Every sound in the house seemed amplified—the ticking of the clock, the low hum of the refrigerator, the faint rustle of leaves outside the window. Everything felt wrong now. Everything felt dangerous.
