Overheard

I shut the laptop, the glowing wireframe vanishing into black glass. From above, the attic would be dark, cramped, and insulated with decades of dust. I needed proper lighting.

I grabbed my keys from the kitchen island. A trip to the hardware store for a high-powered work light was justifiable. Even Arthur couldn't argue with needing to see in the dark.

I pulled into the detached garage, the automatic door grinding shut behind me. As I stepped out of the car, I noticed Leo's forgotten AP History textbook sitting on the passenger seat. He needed it for a test tomorrow, and he was currently 'studying' at his friend's house.

A detour. A perfectly normal, aunt-like errand.

I turned the ignition back on and backed out of the driveway. Arthur's massive stone colonial was only ten minutes away, situated in an even more exclusive subdivision than our childhood Tudor.

I parked on the street, avoiding the sweeping circular driveway where Arthur's pristine 1968 Jaguar was permanently displayed like a museum piece.

I walked up the slate path. The house was imposing, all sharp angles and leaded glass. I had a spare key, given to me 'just in case' by Chloe, who always seemed eager to shed the responsibility of the Vance compound.

I unlocked the heavy front door, intending to drop the book on the foyer table and leave. The house was quiet, the air thick with the scent of expensive floor wax and forced-air heating.

As I set the heavy textbook down, a murmur drifted from the back of the house. Arthur's study.

The heavy mahogany doors were shut, but the acoustics of the grand hallway carried the sound perfectly. I froze, my hand still resting on the textbook cover.

It wasn't just Arthur. Harrison was with him. Or, at least, Harrison's voice was. The tinny, slightly compressed audio of a speakerphone echoed against the polished marble floor.

I stepped away from the table, my boots silent on the thick runner rug. I moved toward the double doors, pressing my back against the wall just outside the study.

"—measuring it again, Harry," Arthur’s voice was low, carrying a rare edge of genuine frustration. "She pulled permits. She brought in a contractor. She’s actively mapping the second floor."

"The contractor is manageable," Harrison’s voice buzzed through the speaker. "Julian Vance is heavily leveraged. A call to his primary lender will force him to abandon the project."

"Julian is a symptom," Arthur snapped. "Eleanor is the disease. She's fixated on the house. She was in the attic yesterday."

The silence that followed was heavy, charged with twenty-eight years of unspoken panic. My chest tightened, a familiar, conditioned response to their combined authority.

"She doesn't know what she's looking for," Harrison finally said, his clinical tone strained. "The memory suppression is holding. I adjusted the compound this morning."

"The compound isn't a wall, Harrison. It's a stopgap." Arthur’s chair creaked loudly as he leaned forward. "If she breaches that drywall... if she gets into the void..."

"She won't."

"She already knows the measurements don't align. She’s an architect, for god's sake. She builds spaces for a living. She knows when one is missing."

Arthur paced, his heavy footsteps thudding against the carpet inside the study.

"We need to execute the codicil," Arthur continued. "I can initiate the eviction by Friday. Claim she’s destroying the historical integrity. It gets her out of the house. Then we go in, open the wall, and deal with it properly."

"Moving it is too dangerous," Harrison argued, his voice sharp and suddenly panicked. "The deterioration... the forensic trace... it’s safer sealed."

"It's not safe if she's tearing the house down around it," Arthur growled. "She's digging where she shouldn't be."

I stopped breathing. The air in the hallway turned cold, slicking my palms with sweat. They were talking about the sleeping bag. They were talking about moving what was inside.

"The codicil takes time to enforce, Arthur. She'll fight it. She'll use Leo."

"Then we make sure she can't fight," Arthur said. The chill in his voice was absolute.

Through the door: 'Up her dosage, Harry. Before she finds the sleeping bag.'