Smithi didn't return for nearly fifteen minutes.
I tried to distract myself.
Failed.
Something in my gut twisted — the kind that knows danger is already inside your house, sitting quietly like a shadow waiting for the right moment.
Maya paced the hall.
"Should we look for her?" she asked.
"She went to the terrace," Anuhya said. "Maybe she needs space."
"Alone?" I whispered.
That word tasted wrong.
None of us should be alone right now.
I walked to the corridor, heart pounding, when footsteps approached.
Smithi.
But she looked… wrong.
Her face was pale. Lips trembling. Hands shaking despite her attempt to hide them under her dupatta.
"Where were you?" I asked softly.
"Air… just air," she whispered.
Her voice cracked.
Priya touched her shoulder. "Sit, I'll get water—"
"No!" Smithi jerked back. "I'm fine."
She wasn't.
God, she wasn't.
There was a faint red mark on her cheek — a thin, almost invisible line.
A knife mark.
But she turned her head just enough to hide it.
"Smithi…" I whispered, "did someone say something?"
Her eyes softened for a split second — a spark of pain, of fear — and then she shut down completely.
"No. Stop asking."
She locked herself in the bathroom.
Maya whispered shakily, "Something is very, very wrong."
That night, I tried to sleep but the darkness felt crowded.
Like eyes watched us even when the lights were off.
I pulled Simba close. His small body trembled against mine.
Even he sensed it.
Dhruv's warning echoed in my mind:
People who notice too much are the first to go missing.
And suddenly I knew:
Smithi wasn't noticing too much anymore.
She was drowning in something she couldn't tell us.
And it was pulling her deeper every second.