The dark hits harder than it should.
It is not just the absence of light. It is the way the house seems to inhale when the power cuts out, like it has been waiting for permission to exhale all at once. The hum of systems dies instantly. No cameras. No quiet electronic reassurance layered into the walls. Just wind and rain and the sudden, exposed quiet between thunderclaps.
My chest tightens.
I tell myself this is different. That this is not a basement. Not a locked room. Not a place designed to trap me. This is a house by the sea. This is a storm. This is normal.
My body does not care.
My breath turns shallow before I can stop it. Each inhale catches halfway in, like my lungs have forgotten how far they are allowed to expand. My heart stutters, then pounds, loud enough that it feels l
