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His face gave nothing away. “There’s no one. I checked every room, every closet, the bathrooms, under the beds. Exterior doors are locked. Windows are latched. No broken glass. No damage to the locks. Alarm panel is still armed.”

“There was someone.”

Dad didn’t say no.

That mattered.

He crossed to my bathroom and switched on the light.

He checked the bathroom window even though it was too small for a grown man to climb through without serious commitment. Locked.

He came back. “Are you sure it wasn’t a nightmare, babygirl?”

I took a deep breath. I felt—

I wasn’t sure. Almost relieved.

More embarrassed.

Was I sure it wasn’t a nightmare?

Yes. I was sure of that.

But was I sure there had actually been an intruder?

No. How could I be?

I hadn’t actually seen anything I was sure of.

It had been so dark.

And I couldn’t be sure of what I’d even heard.

I’d thought I’d heard snapping fingers.

But so many sounds could be mistaken for so many things in the dark. Wood settling. Plastic shifting.

A vent. An electrical pop. Anything.

But what about that finger touching my head? How could I explain that away as nothing?

And then—

I looked toward my nightstand.

The clock was still blank. The lamp beside it was off.

I moved out of Sunshine’s arms and leaned over the side of the bed.

The cords hung loose.

I stared.

“What?” Dad asked.

I got down and checked behind the nightstand.

The lamp and alarm clock had both been unplugged.