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“There’s no time, just go pack.” He flings the mosscloth curtain aside, and everyone in the main room pretends like they weren’t listening.
Amma’s already on her feet, her cane thudding with each of her steps. Her white hair frizzes up out of her bun, giving her an otherworldly halo as it catches the light from the kitchen lamp. “Alcanar?”
Pa kicks aside the threadbare rug that covers the kitchen floor and raises the trapdoor beneath, climbing in. He pauses halfway into the tiny, secret room that serves as his bedroom and study, and meets Amma’s eyes. “We’ll be going soon, Amma.”
I raise my voice. “We can’t just go—Amma needs us.”
Amma puts a quieting hand on my shoulder. “Why now? After seven years, why now?”
Pa clenches his jaw. “Now they know I’m alive. They’ll come for me soon.”
“How?” I ask. “Why?”
Pa’s eyes bore into mine. “That ikon—I invented it.”
His words eat up all the sound in the room, save for the pounding of my heart.
A knock comes at the door, loud as a thunderclap.
