I held my breath, listening to the silence of the pantry.

The air in here was tight and smelled of dried bay leaves and vanilla beans.

Outside the door, the kitchen was silent for a fraction of a second.

Then Harris threw his weight against the wood.

The heavy oak vibrated, but the deadbolt held.

“Clara!” Harris shouted, his voice muffled by the thick paneling.

“Open this door right now!”

He slammed his shoulder against it again.

I did not move.

My hands searched the dark behind me, finding the edge of a steel shelf to steady myself.

The house felt dead without the hum of the refrigerator and the smart-home servers.

It was a hollow, empty shell in the middle of the woods.

Through the crack at the bottom of the door, I saw a thin sliver of light bounce across the kitchen floor.

Harris was swinging his flashlight around.

“Clara, this isn’t funny,” he called out.

His voice sounded tighter now, losing its professional calm.

“The power is out, and your husband is outside.”

A sharp crack echoed from the kitchen window.