The house is quiet now. Too quiet. I’m sitting on the stairs, right in that spot where the moonlight comes through the hallway window. It’s cold here, but I don’t want to move. I’m watching Dad’s study door. It’s been closed for three hours straight, and before that, he only came out to refill his coffee mug. Didn’t say a word to anyone. Something’s wrong. I mean, really wrong. I used to think Dad was just... tired. You know? Working on those animatronics, trying to make the restaurant perfect. The “Fredbear’s Family Diner” dream. But lately, it’s like he’s not even here anymore. His eyes are different—distant, like he’s looking through us instead of at us. Mom notices it too. I see her watching him when he thinks no one’s looking. She gets this expression, like she’s trying to solve a puzzle but missing half the pieces. They don’t talk much anymore. Just pass each other in the kitchen, these silent ships in the night. And those blueprints... I saw them once, when Dad fell asleep at the table. They weren’t just for the animatronics. There were... other things. Rooms. Underground spaces. Things that didn’t look like they were for a family restaurant. They looked like... I don’t know. Secrets. I’m scared to ask him about it. I’m scared to know the answer. The light is still on under his door. It’s almost midnight. He’s probably working on something that will keep him away from us for another week. I should go to bed. But instead, I’m just sitting here, wondering when my dad became a stranger.