The house was wrapped in the kind of silence that only 3 a.m. could bring — the kind that makes every clock tick sound like a heartbeat and every whisper of the wind sound like a confession. Vanya stirred, half asleep, her mind floating somewhere between dreams and wakefulness. And then it came again — that faint, almost metallic clinking sound. She frowned, turning in bed, her hand automatically reaching for her phone. The screen blinked to life, throwing a dull blue glow across her face. 03:07 a.m.

She squinted toward the window. The sound came again — sharper this time, deliberate. Her pulse jumped. For a brief second, her mind went wild with all kinds of possibilities — a thief, maybe a stray cat — until instinct took over. She got up, wrapped her hands around the table lamp, and, with her heart thudding unreasonably fast, tiptoed to the window.