The sound of hushed voices outside my bedroom door pulls me from sleep. I can hear my mother's voice, strained and emotional, mixing with my father's deeper tones. Something's wrong. The way they're talkingurgent, secretivesends an uncomfortable chill through me.

I swing my legs over the side of the bed, running a hand through my disheveled hair. The digital clock on my nightstand glows 7:23 AM. Too early for whatever drama is unfolding outside my door. But the tension in their voices ...