The villa creaked.
It always had—old bones, old pipes—but lately, the creaking felt... intentional. Not random. Not structural. Like the house had started breathing with strangers in it.
Gia lay on her back in bed, her eyes fixed on the ceiling. It was nearly 2 a.m., but sleep wasn't coming. She hadn't turned off the lamp. The dim orange light spilled across her dresser, flickering slightly when the wind rattled the window.
She hated how aware she'd become of every sound since the boys moved in.
Footsteps.
Soft ones. Too soft for four grown guys.
She sat up, heart ticking a little faster.
There it was again—a faint floorboard shift.
Not above her. Not below.
Right outside her room.
She held her breath.
Then the creak stopped.
She slid out of bed, tiptoeing across the cold floor to the door. Slowly, she cracked it open. The hallway stretched dim and empty, bathed in moonlight from the small window at the end. Shadows moved faintly as trees rustled outside.
She waited.
Nothing.
Then—quietly—Leonardo emerged from the bathroom, towel in hand. His hair was damp, glasses off, face more tired than usual.
He stopped when he saw her.
"Did I wake you?" he asked softly.
Gia shook her head. "No. I... thought I heard something."
He blinked. "Old houses echo."
She nodded, pretending that made sense.
Leonardo's gaze stayed steady. "Try to sleep. It's safe here."
Safe?
It wasn't the word itself. It was the way he said it—low, even, without emotion.
Like a soldier promising peace during a war.
Gia nodded again and closed the door.
The next morning, she found Ken in the kitchen frying eggs—shirtless again, headphones in, dancing slightly to music only he could hear. Roy sat at the counter scrolling through his phone, and Leonardo read the news on his laptop.
Ace wasn't there.
Gia poured herself a glass of water and leaned against the fridge.
"You guys ever hear anything weird at night?" she asked casually.
Ken looked up. "Weird like what?"
"Like… footsteps. Or the walls breathing."
Roy chuckled. "You need more sleep, landlord."
Gia rolled her eyes. "Just asking."
Leonardo didn't look up. "Old houses make noise. The wind moves through them differently."
"So I'm just paranoid?"
No one answered.
She glanced toward the staircase, half-expecting Ace to appear.
He didn't.
That evening, as the sun dipped behind the trees and the house fell into its usual hush, Gia heard something again.
Scratching.
Not loud. Not frantic.
Just... soft. Like claws against wood.
She stood frozen in her room, the noise barely audible under the rustling trees outside.
When she finally got the courage to open her door—
Silence.
The house, as always, gave nothing away.
---
The next few days passed in a blur of normalcy that didn't quite feel real.
The boys settled in too easily.
Ken played loud music but turned it off exactly at 10 p.m., like he'd memorized every house rule. Roy helped carry groceries in without being asked. Leonardo fixed the leaky bathroom faucet without telling anyone.
Even Ace—who barely spoke—took out the trash before she could ask.
It was too... coordinated.
Too careful.
Gia tried not to overthink it. After all, they paid rent on time, cleaned up after themselves, and didn't trash the house like most teenage guys would. But she couldn't shake the sense that she was the only one living here by accident—and they were here for a reason.
---
It was Friday when the knock came.
Gia was alone in the living room, studying with a book on her lap when the sharp rapping at the door broke the calm.
Three knocks.
Hard. Rhythmic.
Not like Ken's chaotic banging or Roy's lazy tap-tap.
This knock had authority.
She glanced at the clock. 5:02 p.m.
She moved to the door cautiously, peeking through the peephole.
Two men in dark suits stood outside.
Both wore black jackets with federal emblems on their shoulders and earpieces in their ears. One was flipping through a tablet.
Her blood turned cold.
She hesitated. Slowly cracked the door open.
"Can I help you?" she asked.
"Good evening," the taller one said. "Gia Stevens?"
"Yes."
"We're from the Department of National Security. We're conducting a survey in the West Ridge area. Have you seen or heard anything unusual lately?"
Her pulse pounded. "Unusual... like what?"
"Unregistered individuals. Suspicious activity. People wandering around the neighborhood who don't belong."
She swallowed. "No. I—I haven't."
He tilted his head. "You rent out rooms, don't you?"
"Yes," she replied. "To university students. All with valid IDs."
The other man finally spoke. "Mind if we take a look?"
Her spine stiffened. "Do you have a warrant?"
A pause.
"No," the first man said. "Just routine questioning."
"Then I'd prefer not," she said carefully, trying to steady her voice.
He nodded once, not pressing further—but his eyes lingered on the edge of the doorframe.
"If you see or hear anything… off," he said, "call the number on this card."
He handed it to her.
They walked away.
Gia shut the door and locked every bolt.
Only after she turned did she realize someone was standing in the hallway.
Ace.
Completely still. His face unreadable. His arms crossed loosely.
"I didn't hear you come down," she said, heart still racing.
"I was already here," he replied.
"How much did you hear?"
"Enough."
She waited, hoping for some kind of explanation. A joke. A reason. Anything.
But Ace just turned and walked back down the hall.
Gia stood alone, clutching the government card in her hand.