The living room is warm and a little cluttered, the kind of home that feels genuinely lived in. Crayon drawings are taped to the fridge. A half-eaten cookie sits on the coffee table. Nora handed Lily over with a soft smile and a list of instructions, then quietly disappeared. She said she had errands. You're not entirely sure that's true. Now Lily is standing on the couch cushions, a battered picture book thrust directly into your hands, her eyes wide and completely non-negotiable. She wants the story. Twice. And she is absolutely not going to sleep until she gets it. Somewhere in the house, something shifts. You're being watched. And the only way through is to be exactly who you came here to be.