Page 6 of In Shadows We Dance

As I step inside, the familiar scents of home wash over me. Mom’s vanilla candles, coffee from Dad’s cup, tonight’s dinner already warming the air. Everything is exactly as it should be. Everything is normal.

“Illy?” Mom calls from the kitchen. “Is that you?”

“Yeah.” I try to keep my voice steady, taking off my shoes and placing them on the rack.

"Come and help."

“Just a minute.” I need to put my things away first, and take a minute to compose myself.

My bedroom offers a quick respite, and I stay there long enough to take a deep breath, pull my dance clothes out of mybag ready to wash later, and smooth my features into something that won’t make Dad ask questions.

He’s in his usual spot when I pass through the living room, newspaper folded on his lap as he watches the television. His eyes flick to me, assessing as always.

“Have you been running? Your face is red.”

“No, just hurried home.”

“Hmmm.” His attention returns to the television.

Mom’s chopping vegetables when I enter the kitchen. She doesn’t look up, just points to the pile of potatoes and hands me the peeler. I take it from her, and start working, falling into our usual rhythm. This is how after school always goes—quiet, orderly, predictable.

But something has shifted without my permission, and the usual routine isn’t as calming as it was. I keep catching myself checking the kitchen windows, even though they only look out onto the shared courtyard. The gap between the blinds seems too wide, and I have to resist the urge to close them.

Dinner passes in familiar silence, broken only by the clink of silverware, and the usual questions about school. The routine should be comforting, but today it feels hollow, like I’m just going through the motions. I answer on autopilot, but the unease of earlier is still there, a constant reminder that something isn’t right. I keep my voice even and my responses bland. Nothing worth noting. Nothing worth remembering. Nothing unusual.

Yet my skin won’t stop crawling.

I make my excuses as soon as I can, and go to my room. My curtains are already drawn, but that doesn’t stop me from getting up to check the lock. Just to be sure. Just to be safe. I don’t even know why. I’m turning what happened today into a bigger deal than it is.

I’ve almost convinced myself that I’m overreacting … And that’s when I see it.

A shape. A movement. Something ducking out of sight soquickly I can’t be sure it was real.

But the scream building in my throat feels real enough.

WasI right? Was someone following me? Watching me? And if they were … are they still out there now?

CHAPTER 4

Caught In His Sight

WREN

The World WarII lecture drones on, but my attention is locked on Ileana. Since our encounter in the cafeteria, since I watched her dance, I’ve been piecing together what I know about her—things I’d noticed without realizing. Alone, each detail is meaningless. Together, they paint a picture I can’t look away from.

The way she takes notes, how she shifts slightly when someone walks past, the tilt of her head, always angled down.

“Mr. Carlisle?” The teacher’s voice cuts through my focus. “The significance of D-Day?”

“June 6, 1944. The Allied Invasion of Normandy that turned the tide of World War II.” I don’t look away from Ileana. War strategies are simple. Predictable. I don’t need to pay attention when my mind is preoccupied with something far more compelling.

“You’re staring,” Monty whispers from beside me.

“Am I?” I don’t bother denying it. Every shift, every movement, reveals glimpses of what she hides beneath her careful facade. Something that doesn’t match her attempts to fade into the background.

“Since when do you care about her?”

“Since she proved interesting.” The words come out quieter than intended, more to myself than him.

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