Page 108 of The Very First Night

“Good girl,” I sigh as I press my lips to her forehead, which is almost as frosty as her chilled hands. “Now, let’s go see the giraffes, then get some cocoa.”

Kat’s lips curve upward into a smile as I pull her down the walkway toward the giraffe enclosure. “They’re not even outside.”

“They still exist in winter, you know,” I respond, knocking on the cold metal door marked “Employees Only.” My knuckles sting as I tap three times.

Suddenly, my cousin Aaron opens the door and greets me with an irritated scowl. “You have ten minutes—after that, you need to get out. I’ll get fired if they find you in here.”

“Did you say fifteen?”

“Ten.” He is not amused.

“Twenty?”

Aaron’s arms tense, crossing over his chest as his eyebrows shoot up in irritation. “Zero?”

“Okay, ten minutes.”

He holds the door open with his right hand and gestures for Kat and me to go ahead, then he steps outside, pulling the door closed behind him.

Kat’s eyes instantly widen with amazement as she stands just a few feet away from a giraffe. The majestic creature towers over her, separated only by a thin netted barrier.

And I know with certainty: nothing that makes her smile like that will ever be an inconvenience.

Despite the joy on her face, there is something in her expression that gives me pause.

“Are you nervous about tomorrow?” I ask.

“A little,” she mumbles, but she doesn’t look at me.

“You don’t have to see him; you know that, right? No one would judge you if you left him to die in peace without ever knowing you.”

“I want to…for me. I need to know.”

I press a kiss to her temple, trying desperately to provide her with a sliver of comfort. “Okay, then we’ll go.”

FIFTY-THREE

KAT

As I stand on the porch of my father’s imposing home, my eyes sweep over the grandeur and opulence before me. Pristine white pillars tower above us, framing the massive front door that looks like it could belong to a palace. The gardens are meticulously landscaped, even in the dead of winter, with perfectly trimmed bushes and vibrant flowers peeking out from under a layer of frost. Parked in the driveway is a sleek, expensive sports car, making me painfully aware of my father’s wealth.

I clench my fists until my knuckles turn white, fighting the urge to grab the expensive vase by the door and smash it against the wall. The anger bubbling up in me tastes like bile in my throat, as if I could vomit up all of my resentment. That vase is probably worth more than my entire tuition for this semester.

My anxiety threatens to pull me into a downward spiral, but Tanner’s large, calming hand presses gently against the small of my back. The warmth and weight of it anchors me.

“So, you didn’t grow up here?” I ask Patrick, who stands at my other side, seemingly just as anxious as I am.

His voice drips with bitterness and resentment as he replies, “No, he got rid of the house last year. Said it reminded him too much of my mom, so he downsized.”

I sense a heaviness in his tone and choose not to probe further—I’ve got enough baggage when it comes to our father; carrying any of Patrick’s would pull me under.

“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that.” And I mean it. While I might resent her for what she did to my mom, I know Patrick loved his mom more than anything. Losing the home that she raised him in because his dad just didn’t want to look at it anymore is a kind of cruelty that no child should have to endure.

“Thanks.” Patrick’s hand trembles as he punches the code into the keypad, his fingers leaving smudges on the shiny buttons. Once the door is unlocked, he pushes it slowly, the creak of the hinge reverberating through the crisp, stale air.

None of us actually want to be here, but here we are nonetheless—whether out of obligation or fear is hard to tell.

The excessively opulent house is so quiet it’s eerie. It’s like being in a museum, surrounded by gaudy wealth and excessive decor. But there’s no sign of life here, no laughter or bustling servants. It’s almost unsettling how empty this place feels. Maybe this is what it means to be rich—living in a huge, empty house that’s more a status symbol than a home. Or maybe it’s all just for show, like something you’d see in a movie. Either way, I can’t shake the creepy feeling washing over me.

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