3:33

Chapter 3-Between Waking and Drowning

Mateo couldn't shake the feeling that something was terribly wrong as he searched every corner of Ivy's room, the darkness pressing in like a living thing.

He'd been at it for hours now—checking behind furniture, tapping on walls, shining his phone into shadows that seemed to swallow the light. Nothing. Just the old house groaning and Route 16 humming in the distance.

"See?" He forced a smile. "Nothing here. Just an old house being an old house."

Ivy hadn't moved from her bed. She watched him with eyes that had gone from fever-bright to something far worse—empty. Like she'd checked out completely.

"When'd you last sleep?" he asked, already dreading the answer.

She took forever to respond. "Saturday morning. Seven o'clock."

Christ. Today was Tuesday. That's what—79 hours? No wonder she was seeing things.

"And you're hearing scratching?"

"Only at night." Her voice was barely there. "Only at 3:33."

Yeah, that tracked. Stay awake long enough and your brain starts making up its own horror show. The scratching, the feeling of being watched—textbook sleep deprivation. But why 3:33? And why'd she keep bringing up Aurora?

"Sweetheart, your brain's just exhausted," he said, sitting on the edge of her bed. "When we don't sleep, our minds play all sorts of tricks. Those sounds? That feeling something's there? They're not real. It's just your brain screaming for rest."

She shook her head, and when she spoke, her whisper cut right through him: "It's real. And it wants me."

"Nobody wants you. You're safe here."

"Aurora was safe too."

The words hung between them like a knife.

Downstairs, he found Eloise in the kitchen, staring at a cup of tea that'd grown a nasty film on top. She looked miles away.

"Well?" she asked, not even looking up.

"Sleep deprivation," he explained. "She's hearing things, maybe seeing stuff that's not there. I'll call Dr. Brennan about getting her something to help her sleep—just to reset things."

Eloise's eyes snapped up. "She thinks something's in the walls."

"I know."

"She thinks it took Aurora."

He nodded. "Yeah, I know that too."

Then Eloise looked at him—really looked at him—and for the first time in months, he saw something raw break through. Not grief. They'd moved past that. This was pure, primal fear clawing its way out.

"What if she's right?" The words came out in a whisper.

"Eloise—"

"No, listen to me." Her knuckles went white gripping the counter. "What if something did take Aurora? What if it wasn't an accident?"

They'd been through this so many times. "The police investigated. There was an inquest. She drowned—it was horrible and unfair, but it was an accident."

"But they never found her body."

Those five words landed like a punch. Because she was right. Aurora had vanished at a pool party—six kids, parents watching. One second she was at the water's edge, the next...gone.

They'd searched for weeks. Drained the pool, combed the neighborhood, knocked on every door. Six weeks of nothing before the official verdict: accidental drowning, body probably swept through storm drains into the Charles River.

He'd accepted it because the alternative—that she'd just vanished—was too much to bear.

"They know what they're doing," he said, but even he heard how hollow it sounded.

Eloise's eyes got that same too-bright look Ivy had earlier. "Do they? Or did they just need to close the case? Now Ivy's saying the same thing—that whatever took Aurora is coming for her. What if—"

"You're exhausted," he interrupted gently. "We all are. That's what trauma does. Makes you see patterns that aren't there, connections that don't exist."

"Then why 3:33? Why that exact time?"

He had nothing. "I don't know. But I'll figure it out. I promise."

She moved closer, her whisper sharp as glass. "Will you? Because you couldn't save Aurora. What makes you think you can save Ivy?"

The words hit exactly where she'd aimed them. For a moment, he just stared at this woman he'd loved for twelve years—suddenly a stranger. A stranger who blamed him.

And maybe she was right to.

"I'm checking on Ivy," he muttered, turning away before she could see his eyes filling up.

But as he climbed the stairs, that number kept echoing in his head: 3:33. And somewhere deep in the walls, he could've sworn he heard something scratching.