The afternoon sun cut through the blinds, sharp beams of light striking the living room floor. I was in the kitchen, cleaning up after Marga’s lunch, when I heard raised voices. My stomach sank instantly. I knew that tone—Ezekiel’s voice, hard, commanding, and under it, something dangerous.

I dropped the dish I was drying and ran to the living room, heart pounding.

Elijah and Ezekiel were face-to-face, fists clenched, faces inches apart. The tension radiated from them like heat. My ...