Chapter 2 - The Sound of Broken GlassThe quiet didn't last. In a house like the Rinaldi estate, silence was never peace—it was just loading time for the next catastrophe.
"It’s called The City of the Damned," the scarred boy said, his chin tilting up in an unmistakable challenge. His name, Claire would soon learn, was Leo—the oldest by four minutes, the firestarter, the one who carried the coldest eyes and the faint, jagged white line slicing through his left eyebrow like a permanent lightning bolt.
"A bit dramatic for an eight-year-old, don't you think?" Claire replied, setting the intact water balloon gently on the ruined desk.
"You don't know anything," snapped the third triplet, Mateo, the fastest runner and the one who had just pelted her with a pancake. He crossed his arms, glaring at her cheap flats and the worn fabric of her borrowed coat. "You’re just like the others. You’re going to cry, call Brandt, and run out that front gate before dinner."
Claire didn't flinch. She had spent six years dodging angry, drunken restaurant patrons who threw plates when their ribeyes were overcooked. Three middle-class kids with too much sugar and zero boundaries? They were amateur hour.
"I don't run easily," Claire said softly, her voice dropping an octave, carrying the heavy exhaustion of a woman with eleven dollars and forty-three cents to her name. "And I certainly don't waste good food. Now, who’s going to help me clean up this kitchen disaster before your father gets home?"
"Our father doesn't care," Leo muttered, turning away. But as he turned, Claire caught a glimpse of something flicker across his face—not anger, but a sudden, sharp jolt of confusion.
None of the other twenty-two nannies had ever asked them to help clean. They had either shrieked, threatened punishment, or fled in tears within the first ten minutes.
Henry Brandt, standing quietly in the doorway, watched the exchange with a calculating gleam in his dark eyes. He didn't say a word. He simply turned on his heel and left them to it.
By evening, the playroom was half-salvaged, and Claire had discovered two things:
The boys were terrifyingly smart, capable of dismantling a remote-control car and rebuilding it into a miniature security camera in under twenty minutes.
They were utterly, profoundly lonely.
At 8:00 PM, the heavy mahogany front doors downstairs clicked open. Heavy, measured footsteps echoed across the marble foyer. The temperature in the house seemed to drop ten degrees instantly.
Leo, Mateo, and the quiet middle triplet, Julian, froze instantly. Their shoulders locked. The chaotic energy vanished, replaced by a suffocating, unnatural stillness.
May you like
A deep, gravelly voice echoed from the hall.
"Brandt. Report."
