The room upstairs felt smaller now, the air thick with fear and silence.
Jen crouched in front of the twins, lowering herself to their level. Her wrists were still bound in-front of her, but she kept her voice steady, gentle.
"Hey," she whispered. "Look at me."
Chris hesitated, then met her eyes. Toby followed a moment later.
"Everything is going to be okay," Jen said softly. "I promise. I need you both to stay calm, no matter what happens. Can you do that for me?"
They nodded in unison, eyes wide but trusting.
Jen offered a small smile. "Good. You're doing great."
Downstairs, the calm was being dismantled piece by piece.
The calm burglar moved through the dining area with mechanical precision, collecting every phone from the table, the counter, even Amy's clutch purse. He dumped them into a neat pile on the hardwood floor, then reached into the duffle bag and pulled out a hammer.
Without ceremony, he brought it down.
Crack.
A screen shattered.
Crack.
Another phone splintered, glass scattering like ice.
Amy flinched at each strike. David stared, frozen, as their last connection to the outside world was destroyed in seconds.
When the burglar finished, he gathered the remains into the duffle bag and stepped back, silent once more.
The leader clasped his hands together, satisfied.
"Now," he said, turning his attention fully to David and Amy, "let's discuss why we're here."
Amy's breathing was shallow. David forced himself to sit straighter, though his hands trembled against the zip ties.
"My agenda for the evening is quite simple," the leader continued. "You're going to wire five hundred million dollars from your joint account."
Amy let out a strangled sound. "That's—"
"And," the leader added smoothly, "you're also going to give me the codes to the safe you keep in this house. The one with the money sitting pretty inside."
The words hung in the air, unreal.
"That's impossible," David said hoarsely. "You can't just—"
"I can," the leader interrupted calmly. "And I will."
Amy shook her head, tears welling. "You don't understand what you're asking."
"Oh, I understand perfectly," the leader said, his voice hardening just enough to send a chill through the room. "I'll give you a minute to digest what you just heard."
He glanced at his watch. "But let's be clear—you don't have a choice. We're not here to joke around."
Silence fell again, heavier than before.
Upstairs, Jen had shifted onto the floor as she worked the table knife against the plastic binding her wrists. Each sawing motion sent a jolt of pain through her arms, but she ignored it.
The knife wasn't as sharp.
But it was working.
The twins watched her with silent intensity, eyes following every movement. There was something in their gaze—surprise, maybe even awe—like they were seeing her differently now.
Jen kept her face calm, focused, as if this was something she had done before. As if she knew exactly what she was doing.
The bind began to thin.
Then—
The lock rattled.
Jen froze.
She slid the knife up into her sleeve in one smooth motion and straightened, forcing herself upright just as the door opened.
The Tall burglar stepped in, scanning the room.
Before he could speak, Jen did.
"The kids need water," she said firmly.
He blinked, clearly not expecting that. "What?"
"They're scared, thirsty. They need water."
He scoffed. "I'm not your errand boy."
Jen tilted her head, irritation flashing across her face.
"I would've gotten it myself," she said dryly, "if walking freely was a leisure around here."
The twins stared at her, shocked by her tone.
The burglar stepped closer. "Behave," he warned."Don't push your luck."
Jen met his gaze without flinching. "They're just kids."
For a moment, it seemed like he might argue. Then he sighed sharply. "Fine. I'll be back."
He stepped out, locking the door behind him once more.
The second his footsteps faded, Jen dropped back down and resumed cutting.
The plastic strained, stretching thinner with each careful motion.
Then she stopped.
The bind was at its breaking point—one wrong move and it would snap loudly.
Jen stilled her hands, breathing slowly, forcing patience.
Not yet.
Soon.
But not yet.