The Invitation

The morning in that quiet Japanese suburb unfolded like a painting, mist still clung to the trimmed hedges, birdsong floated over the tiled roofs, and the sun painted the horizon in pale gold. It was the sort of morning where everything seemed neat, orderly, and calm. But calm was never truly the language of the Langfords.

Ares stepped out of the grand mansion with a box of neatly packed snacks in one hand and a cream colored envelope in the other. His children darted around ...