bChapter /bb29 /b

Aurora’s P.O.V

bAs /bsoon as we step inside, I exhale a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding. The house is eerily quiet, but for onceb, /bthat silence brings mefort instead of fear. There’s no sound of heavy boots stomping against the floor, bno /bslurred curses or the rattling of beer bottles being thrown against the wallb. /bbHe /bisn‘ here. That means he’s either passed out drunk in some alley or holed up in a smoky gambling den, chasing the illusion of luck with bthe /bst of bhis /bbwinnings /b

Good, I don’t have to tiptoe around tonight.

I bolt the door behind me, securing the deadbolt and the chain, then double–check the windows, making sure bevery /bsingle one is locked. I can’t risk him stumbling in at some ungodly hour, demanding money we don’t have or waking up my brother with his usual rage–fueled nonsense.

Once satisfied that we’re bas /bsafe as we can be, I head to the kitchen, pulling out the leftovers I managed to bring home from the dinerb. /bbThe /bpasta is a little dry, but it’s food, and that’s all that matters. I save a portion for the morning–I know we won’t have much else for breakfast–and warm up the brest/bb. /bbAs /bbt /bce the tes on the table, my brother plops down in his chair with a tired groan, rubbing at his face.

“Think he’ll be gone all night?” he basks/b, his voice hopeful but cautious.

I nod, giving him the closest thing to reassurance I can manage. “Probably. If he bwas /bing back early, we would’ve heard him by bnow/bb. /bbI /bbpush /bba /bbte /btoward him, watching as he digs in, his exhaustion evident in the bway /bhe eats–too bfast/bb, /bas if he has to finish before something takes bit /baway from bhim/bb. /bbI /bknow the feeling.

We eat in silence for a moment, the tension in my shoulders gradually easing, the familiar taste of homeb–/bcooked foodb, /bbeven /bif it’s just breheated/b, giving me a small sense of normalcy. But then, just bas /bbI /bstart to feel even the tiniest bitfortable, the lights flicker bonce/bb–/btwiceb–/bbefore plunging us into darknessb. /b

“Not again,” he said.

I stay still, listening. It could just be a ckout, but my gut tells me otherwiseb. /b“Stay put,” I murmurb, /bpushing my chair back carefully. I know bwhere /bbthe /bcandles are—I keep them ready for nights like these. Just as I take ba /bstep toward the drawer, I hear something outsideb. /bA faint noiseb, /bbarely bnoticeable over /bthe distant sounds of the city. My stomach twists.

My brother must hear it too because he tenses up. ‘Aura,” he whispers, barely audible.

“Shh.” I hold up a hand, heart pounding as I strain to listen. The locks bare /bsecureb. /bThe windows are shut. We should be safe. But when ites to our fatherb, /bI’ve learned never to let my guard down.

This wasn’t a power cut. This was meb, /bforgetting to pay the damn bill, I groaned, rubbing my temples bas /bI tried to calcte how long it would be until bmy /bnext paycheck. Three days. Three long days without electricity.

“Aura?” Riley’s small voice cut through my panic, and I turned to see his shadowy figure standing uncertainly by the doorway. He clutched his stuffed rabbit, the one I had sewn back together twice now, and his big, worried eyes gleamed in the dim moonlight.

‘I’m scared,” he whispered, and instantly, my heart clenched.

Forcing a smile, even though my insides felt like they bwere /btwisting into knotsb, /bI reached for the drawer and fumbled around until my fingers closed around a candle. I struck a match, the little me casting long, flickering shadows on the walls. It wasn’t muchb, /bbut it would do. I ced the candle carefully bon /bthe table, watching the way it’s warm glow made Riley’s face soften just a little.

“Well, buddy,” I said, keeping my voice light, “looks like we’re going to have ba /bfew candle–lit dinnersb. /bFancy, huh?b” /b

Riley hesitated, clearly unconvinced, his little hands tightening around his stuffed toy. “But… What about the fridgeb? /bbAnd /bthe lights?” bHis /bblip /bbwobbled/bb, /bband /bbI /bswallowed hard, knowing that no amount of sugar coating would change the fact that this was going to be rough.

I kneeled in front of him, brushing his messy hair back from his forehead. “It’s just for a few days, love. bJust /buntil I get paid. We’ll bmake /bbit /bth? bWe /bbcan /btell stories, y games–like camping inside the house.”

His expression was still uncertain, but after moment, he gave me a small nod. “bOkay/b,” he mumbled.

Relieved but still feeling the weight of my failure settle bheavily /bon bmy /bshouldersb, /bbI /bguided him to the btable /bbto /bfinish bup /bour dinner.