On the night the burglars chose Jay Lawson’s house, the plastic reindeer on the front lawn was still blinking in the California heat, its red nose flashing “Merry Christmas” into the empty cul-de-sac.

It did not feel like Christmas in Los Angeles.

There was no snow, just a thin layer of dust on the driveway and a string of lights sagging under a bright blue December sky. Palm trees lined the quiet suburban street, all wrapped in cheap LED lights that would look magical in the dark and faintly ridiculous during the day.

Inside the beige two-story house, Christmas looked a little more like the movies.

Suitcases stood open in the foyer. A fully decorated tree twinkled in the living room, the TV muttering some Hallmark holiday movie to no one in particular. The smell of cinnamon candles and laundry detergent hung in the air.

“Okay,” Jay’s mom said, rifling through her purse. “Plane tickets, IDs, itinerary… hotel confirmation, rental car, boarding passes. I think we’re set.”

She was still in her scrubs from the downtown hospital, curls pinned back in a messy bun, a tiny snowman pin stuck to her badge. She looked like every tired American mom two days before Christmas, just trying to remember if she’d forgotten anything important.

“Are you going to be okay, buddy?” his dad asked, leaning down to zip a suitcase.

Silence.

“Jay?” his mom called. “Where did he—”

She spotted the glow before she spotted him. A wash of blue light pulsed from under the coffee table.

She marched into the living room, reached down, and yanked the game console out of its hiding place by its cord.

“Where did you get this?” she demanded.

Fourteen-year-old Jay popped up from behind the couch like a startled meerkat, black hair mussed, hoodie half-zipped, thumbs still twitching from the game.

“That’s not what it looks like,” he said.

“Oh really?” His mom held the iPad in one hand and the console controller in the other. “Because it looks exactly like the tablet you were banned from using after that last report card.”

“Mom, come on.” Jay laced his fingers together in a dramatic plea. “Please. Please don’t take it. I just unlocked a new character. Do you have any idea how hard—”

“If you put half as much effort into your algebra as you do into these video games,” she said, “we would not be having this conversation.”

His dad tried not to smile and failed. “She’s right, champ.”

Jay shot him a betrayed look. “Dad, you’re supposed to be on my side. That’s in the American Father Contract.”

“Nice try,” his dad said.

His mom unplugged the console with grim finality. “You’re banned from screens while we’re gone. That includes this. And the iPad. And your phone.”

“What?” Jay yelped. “I’m going to be in prison.”

“You’ll survive,” she said. “You’ll have your art project to work on.”

Jay groaned like she’d suggested he dig ditches. “That thing isn’t due until January.”

“Next week,” she corrected. “And I told your teacher we’d make sure you actually did it.”

His dad checked his watch. “Regina, we’re going to miss the Uber to LAX.”

“I know, I know.” She set the confiscated electronics on top of the fridge. “Look, Jay, if you need to get hold of us, you know the house phone works. It’s not 1987, but it still does the job.”

Jay frowned. “Why do we even still have a landline? Nobody uses those except scammers and grandparents.”

“And teenagers left home with no cell phone,” his dad pointed out.

Jay folded his arms. “I don’t see why you’re leaving me at all. Why can’t we do a family trip? It’s Christmas.”

“This is our anniversary trip,” his mom reminded him gently. “Your grandma’s snowed in back in Ohio, my sister is working double shifts up in Oakland, and you… got yourself suspended from the church youth Christmas lock-in.” Her eyebrow rose. “Remember that part?”

“It was one tiny harmless prank,” he muttered. “How was I supposed to know filling the pastor’s office with balloons would set off the security alarm?”

His dad coughed into his hand. “Anyway,” he said, “you are not staying home alone.”

“I’m fourteen!” Jay protested. “That’s practically grown in the state of California.”

“In the state of my house,” his mom said, “you are not old enough. There’s been a lot of break-ins in the neighborhood. Did you hear about Miss Crawford three doors down?”

Jay paused. “Miss ‘My Roses Are More Important Than Human Life’ Crawford?”

“Jay,” his dad warned.

“What? It’s true. She yelled at me on Halloween for stepping on her grass.”

“Well, someone tried to break into her house last week,” his mom said. “Right here. In this neighborhood. In the United States. Not some movie on your tablet.”

Jay blinked. “Seriously?”

“She saw a man through the peephole pretending to be a utility worker,” his dad said. “Came back that night and tried a window. Her security system scared him off.”

“So,” his mom finished, “you are not staying here alone. We’re not taking any chances.”

“Which is why,” his dad added, as a car pulled up outside, “we found you a babysitter.”

Jay’s head snapped toward the window. “A babysitter?” He said the word like it was a disease.

“Yes,” his mom said. “A live, breathing, responsible adult. It took me forever to find her on the neighborhood app after you scared off the last four with your ‘pranks.’ So you are going to behave. No talking back. No junk food. No eating on my couch. And absolutely no pranks.”

He held up his hands. “How was I supposed to know plastic wrap on the toilet would make Becky fall into the bowl?”

“You wrapped the seat in clear tape,” his mom said. “At midnight. You almost traumatized the poor girl.”

The doorbell chimed.

His mom smoothed her sweater and opened the door.

A woman in her twenties stood there, long dark hair, perfect makeup, boots that cost more than Jay’s entire wardrobe. She smiled with just enough teeth to seem friendly without trying too hard.

“You must be Jennifer,” his mom said. “I’m Regina. Come in.”

“Thank you so much,” Jennifer said, stepping into the hallway and looking around like she was appraising a real estate listing. “Wow. Your home is beautiful.”

“This is my husband, Mark,” Regina said. “And this is Jay.”

Jennifer turned to him, eyes glinting. “So this is the famous Jay,” she said. “Your mom told me all about you on the phone.”

Jay’s stomach sank. That could not be good.

Regina launched into a rapid-fire tour: emergency contacts on the fridge, cash on the counter for pizza, pediatrician’s number, neighbor’s name. The rules. The landline. The mention of “someone casing houses pretending to be mailmen or salesmen.” Jennifer nodded and “uh-huh’d” in all the right places.

“I’ve heard about those break-ins,” she said. “People have some nerve. Don’t worry—I’ll keep an eye out.”

Regina exhaled. “Thank you. Really. Okay, I think that’s everything. The Uber’s here, we have to go. Honey?” She cupped Jay’s face in her hands. “You behave. Got it?”

He nodded, cheeks burning. “Yeah, yeah. Love you.”

His dad hugged him, clapped him on the back. “We’ll be back day after Christmas. Try not to burn the house down.”

“Or wrap it in plastic,” his mom added, grabbing her suitcase.

They were out the door, down the steps, into the waiting car. Regina waved through the window, smiling too brightly. Jay lifted his hand half-heartedly in return.

The car turned the corner and disappeared, its taillights swallowed by a row of inflatable snowmen.

The house went quiet.

Jay felt it immediately: the way silence settled differently when you were the only heartbeat inside four walls. He glanced at Jennifer.

She closed the door, turned the deadbolt, and the friendly babysitter act slipped off like a coat.

“Well,” she said, dropping her purse on the table, “that was exhausting.”

Jay blinked. “You’ve been here five minutes.”

She shrugged. “Your mom talks a lot.”

He hesitated. “So, uh… what do you want to do?”

Jennifer pulled her phone from her bag. “What I want to do,” she said, “is figure out the Wi-Fi password so I can text my boyfriend and wait for this day to be over.”

She brushed past him toward the living room.

Jay stared after her. Strike one, he thought.

His eyes slid toward the confiscated tablets on top of the fridge, then toward the art supplies spread out on the kitchen table. Poster board, markers, a glue bottle.

He sighed. If he couldn’t play games, he could at least try to milk this situation for entertainment.

“Hey, uh, Jennifer?” he called, following her. “My mom said you’d help me with my art project.”

“I’m not your art teacher,” she said, scrolling through her phone. “Figure it out.”

“But it’s a portrait,” he said. “It’s for extra credit. I’m supposed to trace somebody’s head. I can’t trace my own head. I tried once and almost broke my neck.”

She rolled her eyes. “That’s strike two, kid.”

“That’s not even a strike,” he protested. “It’s a basic human need. Education. The American Dream.”

She made a face and kept scrolling.

He shrugged, started toward the hallway, and threw the line over his shoulder like it was nothing.

“Okay,” he said. “If you don’t want to help, I’ll just go take Draco for a walk.”

“Who’s Draco?” she asked absently.

“My pet snake,” he said. “Last time I took him out, I lost him for a week and found him curled up inside my dad’s pillow.”

Jennifer’s head snapped up. “Your what?”

“Snake,” he repeated, enjoying the way the word made her skin crawl. “He’s real chill. Mostly. Do you want to hold—”

“Absolutely not,” she said, standing so fast the couch squeaked. “Fine. I’ll help you with your ‘project’ if you promise to keep all reptiles away from me.”

Jay grinned. “Deal.”

Two minutes later, she stood in the kitchen, chin tipped up, hair spilling down her back, while he positioned her in front of the poster board.

“You have to stand still,” he said. “Like in a mugshot.”

She glared at him. “Watch it, squirt.”

He pressed the paper to her head, one arm resting on top to keep her steady, the other tracing the outline with a pencil. The glue bottle sat innocently on the counter, its nozzle slightly open.

It only took a tiny squeeze, a quiet swipe, and a quick pat of her hair against the board.

He stepped back. “All right,” he said. “Done.”

She moved. The paper tugged. A small, awful ripping sound filled the air.

“Ow!” she yelped, reaching back. Her fingers found a gooey patch. “What did you do?”

“Uh,” Jay said, fighting a giggle. “Tiny issue. Your hair might be… a little stuck.”

She grabbed the board. It refused to let go. A chunk of her hair refused to let go of it. “Get it off!”

“Hold still!” Jay said. He grabbed a pair of scissors from the counter, heart racing. He snipped wildly. Dark strands fluttered to the floor.

“There,” he said. “All done.”

She spun to the mirror.

“This,” she breathed, staring at the jagged chunk missing from the side of her carefully styled hair, “is not happening.”

“I said I’d fix it,” Jay said. “It’s very punk rock. Very LA.”

She stared at him with murder in her eyes.

“That’s it,” she said. “I am done. Your parents can find someone else to deal with you.”

She snatched her purse, marched to the door, and fumbled with the lock.

“You can’t leave,” he said. “They said—”

“I don’t care what they said,” she snapped. “I am not getting paid enough for this.”

The door slammed behind her.

Jay stared at the empty doorway, the deadbolt slightly ajar, the winter light seeping in.

“Well,” he said out loud to no one. “That escalated quickly.”

Up in the air somewhere between Los Angeles and Oakland, his parents’ plane glided through clear blue sky.

Regina glanced at the little airplane icon on the seatback display, then at her phone, still on airplane mode.

“Maybe I should text and check in,” she murmured. “What if something’s wrong?”

“Everything’s fine,” Mark said, unfolding the in-flight magazine. “If something was wrong, the sitter would call. For the next forty-eight hours, it’s just us. No work. No bedtime battles. Just grown-up time in the Bay Area. We deserve that.”

She hesitated, thumb hovering over the power button.

“Okay,” she said finally. “You’re right.” She switched her phone firmly to airplane mode and tucked it into her bag.

Back in the house, the quiet grew teeth.

Jay checked the driveway. Jennifer’s car was gone. He checked the street. No neighbors out trimming hedges or walking dogs. Just the plastic reindeer, blinking away.

He tried the house phone, dialing his mom’s number by heart. Straight to voicemail.

“Hey, it’s Mom. Leave a message and I’ll call you back when I’m off shift.”

The robotic voice cut in: “The wireless customer you are calling is unavailable.”

He hung up.

He could call Miss Crawford, but she’d probably make him pick weeds as punishment for stepping on her grass in second grade.

He looked around.

“No babysitter,” he said to Draco’s empty tank. “No screens. No parents.”

His mouth slowly curved into a grin.

“This,” he decided, “is going to be the best Christmas ever.”

Across town, in a tired sedan idling under a line of bare street trees, two men stared at a phone screen.

“There,” one of them said, zooming in on the photo. “That house. Look at that tree through the front window. And the mom’s closet. Chanel, Louis Vuitton… this is money.”

“Jennifer says the parents flew out this morning,” the other man said. “Kid’s alone now.”

“Perfect,” the first man said, tossing his empty coffee cup into the back seat. “We’ll do a soft check first. Plain and friendly. Then come back tonight for the real work. Welcome to sunny California.”

They drove into the suburb in broad daylight, the kind of middle-class neighborhood where people assumed danger was something that happened on the news in other states.

They parked in front of the Lawson house, grabbed a stack of junk mail from their car, and walked up the path like they belonged there.

The doorbell rang.

Jay froze halfway down the stairs, a handful of Christmas cookies he wasn’t supposed to be eating already halfway to his mouth.

He remembered his mom’s voice: Do not open the door for strangers.

He peered through the peephole.

Two men he’d never seen before stood there. No mail truck. No uniform. Just hoodies and forced smiles.

“Who is it?” he called, forcing his voice to sound deeper.

“Hey, buddy,” the taller one said. “We live just down the street. Post office mixed up the mail. Got some of your family’s letters.”

Jay narrowed his eyes. “Which house do you live in?”

“The one with the, uh…” The man glanced at his friend. “The blue shutters.”

Every house on the street had brown shutters. Jay smiled.

“Mrs. Finlan has grandkids visiting from Florida,” the shorter one said, trying again. “Maybe you’ve seen us around. Old lady with the hair curlers? That’s our grandma.”

That sounded more true. Jay hesitated.

“I’m not supposed to open the door,” he said.

The taller one laughed. “We’re neighbors, kid. We’re not strangers. Come on. We’re not so bad.”

Jay knew every neighbor on the block. He’d ridden his bike past their houses since kindergarten. He had never seen these men.

“If you give me the mail,” he said, “I’ll take it to my parents.”

“We’d rather hand it to them personally,” the man said, smile flattening. “Where are they?”

“In the kitchen,” Jay lied. “Can’t walk away from the stove. They’re cooking Christmas dinner.”

The short one shifted. “So call them to the door.”

“Mom!” Jay shouted, never looking away from the peephole. “Dad! Some neighbors brought our mail!”

Silence.

He waited a beat, then called, “Okay! They said they’re busy!”

“I don’t hear anything,” the tall man muttered.

“They’re loud on the stove fan,” Jay said. “You know how parents are.”

“Look, kid,” the tall one said, leaning closer. “We really need to talk to them. Just unlock the—”

“Sorry,” Jay said. “They said come back later. Merry Christmas!”

He dropped the deadbolt and backed away from the door.

Outside, the taller man clenched his jaw. “He’s lying,” he said. “No car in the driveway. No adult voice. That kid’s alone.”

“Relax,” the shorter one said, steering him back toward the sidewalk. “We spook him now, he calls somebody. We’ll come back tonight. Lights off, we go through a window. It’s not our first job.”

The taller one glanced back at the house, then at the electrical panel on the side of the garage.

“One more thing,” he said. He walked over, flipped the main switch off, and smiled as the house’s Christmas lights blinked out.

“We’ll make sure he can’t call anyone either,” he said. “Welcome to the dark ages, kid.”

That night, the Lawson house glowed from the inside like a snow globe. The tree twinkled, the television flickered, the plastic reindeer’s red nose blinked faithfully in the yard.

Inside, Jay lounged on the couch, a bowl of popcorn balanced on his chest, an old Christmas movie playing. For a kid denied his usual screens, he’d slid into analog pretty smoothly.

He’d also done something else.

Every hallway rug had been adjusted. Every doorknob had been “treated.” The staircase glistened faintly where he’d sprayed a fine mist of water and dish soap. The front door had a heavy object propped just behind it. Draco’s tank sat on the floor near the basement stairs, its lid slightly ajar.

Jay might have been reckless, but he wasn’t stupid.

If those guys came back, they weren’t the only ones who could plan.

At 9:07 p.m., the house went dark.

The TV clicked off. The Christmas tree died mid-twinkle. The heater sighed and fell silent.

“Seriously?” Jay said, staring at the dead screen. “Now?”

He looked out the front window. The rest of the street shimmered with light: neighbors’ houses, the park’s lampposts, the flashing red nose of the plastic reindeer.

Only his house was a black square against the night.

“Okay,” he whispered. “That’s not creepy at all.”

He ducked behind the couch, dragging his bowl of popcorn with him.

Footsteps crunched across the frosted grass.

The front doorknob jiggled.

“Locked,” a voice muttered.

“You were worried about booby traps,” another voice replied. “No kid is actually going to rig a house like a movie.”

“Wanna bet?” Jay muttered under his breath.

The lock clicked.

Someone had figured out how to pick it.

The door cracked open.

The taller man stepped inside, one foot landing squarely on the mat Jay had shifted half over the polished hardwood.

His foot slid.

The large metal baking sheet Jay had propped just behind the door shot sideways, slamming into his shins.

He yelped, grabbing for the doorframe, which had been generously coated with clear petroleum jelly. His hands slipped. He went down onto his back with a heavy grunt more embarrassing than painful.

“Told you,” the shorter one muttered from the doorway, flicking on a flashlight. Its beam bounced across the entryway, catching the gleam of the baking sheet, the askew mat, the smudges of petroleum jelly.

The tall man glared. “It’s fine,” he hissed. “I’m fine. Go around the back. We’ll pinch him between us.”

He picked himself up, wincing, and stepped inside.

In the darkness, Jay’s heart hammered.

He held the cordless phone in one hand, thumb hovering over the nine. The power was out, but the landline still had juice. His mom had drilled that into him. As long as the phone line itself wasn’t cut, 911 would still work.

He wasn’t ready to press it.

Not yet.

The shorter man crept along the side of the house toward the back door, moving the way he’d seen burglars move in crime shows, bent and cautious.

The sliding glass door in the yard gave way with a little jiggle. No security bar. No alarm. Perfect.

He stepped through into the kitchen.

Something thin rolled beneath his foot.

The world turned sideways.

His legs flew out from under him. He landed on his back in a cluster of hard, round objects.

He grabbed one, squinting in the flashlight beam.

Marbles.

He heard a slithering sound.

He froze.

A cool, dry weight slid across his forearm.

He looked down.

A snake, smooth and slender and entirely real, coiled lazily across his sleeve, tongue flicking.

The shriek he let out could have woken every soul in the state of California.

The snake, offended, slid off his arm and disappeared under the radiator.

“Snake!” the man gasped, scrambling up, marbles shooting in every direction. “There’s a snake in here!”

“Are you kidding me?” the tall one hissed from the hallway. “That kid is not—”

His foot met something else. A row of Christmas ornaments Jay had lined up on the bottom stair. Glass orbs rolled under his shoes. His arms pinwheeled. He caught himself on the railing, which was slick with more invisible soap.

At the top of the stairs, a bucket balanced on the railing tipped just enough.

Half a gallon of cold water and glitter dumped onto his head.

He sputtered, blinking glitter out of his eyes.

“That’s it,” he growled. “I am going to wring that kid’s—”

“Freeze!”

The shout didn’t come from Jay.

Flashlights flooded the hallway.

The taller man turned, drenched and sparkling, to see two uniformed officers in the doorway, guns holstered but hands ready.

“Hands up,” one officer said. “Now.”

The taller man stared for half a second, weighing his options, then slowly raised his hands. Glitter dripped down his neck.

The shorter one stumbled out of the kitchen, panting, eyes wild.

“There is a serpent in this house,” he announced.

The officers clicked handcuffs around their wrists anyway.

Jay peered over the banister, heart still racing.

His parents stood just behind the cops.

Regina rushed forward, hands shaking. “Are you okay?” she cried, grabbing Jay by the shoulders. “Did they hurt you? What did they touch? Did they—”

“Mom,” he said, voice catching. “I’m okay. I swear. It was… mostly slapstick.”

The officer nearest the door nodded. “Honestly, ma’am, I’ve never seen two grown men taken down by a kid, a snake, and some soap before.”

“How did you know?” Jay asked. “I didn’t even call yet.”

“I did,” someone said from behind the officers.

Miss Crawford stepped into view, wrapped in a heavy Christmas sweater, her gray hair pulled back into a tight bun. For once, she wasn’t yelling about her lawn.

“When your mom called from the airport and asked me to check on you,” she said, “I came over. Those two answered the door and claimed you were sleeping and everything was fine.”

She lifted her chin toward the burglars. “I recognized them. They tried my house last week. I didn’t get a good look then, but it was enough. As soon as I got home, I called the police.”

The officer added, “And when we looked through their phones, we saw they’d been messaging someone on the inside. Someone who’d been applying for babysitting jobs up and down this street.”

“Someone,” the other officer said, “who knows exactly what your house looks like on the inside.”

Jennifer’s selfie appeared on the screen.

Jay’s stomach twisted. “So she was in on it,” he said.

“Oh, she was more than ‘in on it,’” the officer said. “She’d been scouting houses all over this side of the city. We’re still tracking her down.”

Jay swallowed. An idea flickered.

“Actually,” he said slowly, “I might be able to help with that.”

Two days later, Jennifer rang the Lawsons’ doorbell, tugging a beanie low over the uneven chunk of hair where her fake-art-project had gone wrong.

She checked her reflection in the glass, forcing wide eyes and a remorseful expression. Innocent. Wronged. Victim of a mean kid.

Regina opened the door, surprise flickering across her face. “Jennifer,” she said. “Wow. I didn’t expect to see you again.”

“I’m so sorry,” Jennifer gushed, hands fluttering. “About leaving like that. I wasn’t thinking. It was just… my hair, and the glue, and I panicked. I’ve been feeling awful. I wanted to apologize. And, um… you said on the phone you wanted to talk about it.”

“Of course,” Regina said. “Come in. We were just about to go over some… bookkeeping.”

Jennifer’s eyes flicked past her, taking in the living room, the tree, the handbag lying on the couch. She barely spared a glance for Jay, who leaned against the banister watching her.

“You know, my husband and I actually feel terrible about how Jay treated you,” Regina said, leading her toward the dining room. “We wanted to give you a little extra for your trouble. As a way of saying sorry.”

Jennifer’s smile sharpened. “That’s very generous,” she said.

“If you’ll just wait here,” Regina said, gesturing to a chair. “I’ll get my checkbook from the kitchen.”

She disappeared around the corner.

Jennifer glanced at Jay. “You didn’t plan on this, did you?” she smirked. “Me getting paid extra for putting up with your little stunts?”

He smiled back, slow and bright.

“Not at first,” he said.

The words made her hesitate.

She realized then that it was quiet.

Too quiet.

“Jennifer Jensen,” a voice said behind her. “Please get on your knees and put your hands over your head.”

Two officers stepped out from the hallway, badges gleaming. One of them was the same man who’d hauled the glittering burglars out of the house on Christmas Eve.

Jennifer’s face went white. “What is this?” she demanded. “What are you doing in my clients’ house?”

“We know you’ve been using babysitting apps and neighborhood groups to get access to houses,” the officer said calmly. “We know you’ve been scouting them for your friends. You’re under arrest for conspiracy and attempted burglary.”

She swung toward Regina. “You set me up,” she hissed.

Regina folded her arms. “You tried to set up my son,” she said. “In this country we call this ‘consequences.’”

Jennifer’s gaze snapped to Jay.

“You little rat,” she spat.

He lifted his chin. “You know what my mom always says?” he asked. “Actions have a way of coming back to you.”

The handcuffs clicked around her wrists.

As the officers led her out, one of them paused and looked at Jay.

“This was a smart move,” he said. “You ever think about going into law enforcement? We could use that kind of creativity at the police department.”

Jay shook his head. “I think I’m going to stick to home security,” he said. “At least until I graduate.”

“Fair enough,” the officer said. “We’ll keep you posted on the case. Merry Christmas, kid.”

“Merry Christmas,” Jay said.

The door closed behind them.

Silence settled over the living room again, softer this time.

Regina turned to Jay, her eyes misty.

“I am so proud of you,” she said, pulling him into a hug. “You scared years off my life, but… you also saved a lot of people’s Christmases in this neighborhood.”

He hugged her back. “I may have also scared years off those guys’ lives,” he admitted.

His dad came in from the kitchen, wiping his hands on a dish towel. “Well,” he said, looking at the floor. “Since the criminals are gone, we can finally get to the most serious crime in this house.”

Regina followed his gaze and gasped. “Is that chocolate,” she said slowly, “on my couch?”

Jay’s head snapped toward the living room. A dark smear curved across the armrest, the exact shape of his hand from Christmas Eve.

He took a step back toward the stairs. “I have no idea how that got there,” he said.

“Jay,” his mom warned.

He pointed behind them. “Look! Draco’s out again—”

“Nice try,” his dad said.

Jay bolted.

“Get back here!” Regina shouted, laughing in spite of herself as she chased him up the stairs. “You are cleaning that couch, mister! No pranks, no excuses, this is not a Hallmark movie—”

Her voice faded into the sound of feet pounding on carpet, laughter bouncing off walls.

Outside, the plastic reindeer’s red nose blinked on in the California sun, the only snow in sight the one painted on its cheap plastic base. The neighborhood looked ordinary again—kids on skateboards, a mail truck rattling down the block, Miss Crawford pruning her roses with the intensity of someone protecting a national monument.

On one quiet street in one American suburb, a kid had been left home alone on Christmas.

The criminals had made one mistake.

They’d assumed he was defenseless.

He wasn’t.

He had a house full of supplies, a head full of ideas, and a mom whose rules had gotten into his bones more than he realized. Don’t open the door to strangers. Use the landline if the power goes out. Actions have a way of coming back to you.

They did.

For everyone.