## Chapter 2: The Consequences of Chaos

The storm outside seemed to have intensified, with flashes of lightning illuminating the darkening sky as I nervously paced around the cabin, my eyes fixed on the clock. Dad had been out running errands, and I knew it was only a matter of time before he walked through the door and saw the damaged sofa. Boris, sensing my unease, stood by my side, his large ears drooping in concern. Just as I was starting to think we'd managed to avoid detection, the door swung open and Dad strode in, his expression stern. "What's going on here?" he demanded, his eyes scanning the room before landing on the dented wall and the scratched sofa legs. I swallowed hard, trying to come up with a convincing explanation, but before I could utter a word, Dad's gaze fell on Boris and me, standing side by side, our guilty faces a dead giveaway. "Boris, what did I tell you about being careful around the house?" Dad's voice was low and menacing, and Boris took a step back, his eyes wide with fear. "I-I'm sorry, sir," Boris stammered, his deep voice trembling. Dad's expression turned cold. "You know you're not supposed to roughhouse in the house, especially not on new furniture. And as for you, young one," he turned to me, "you should be setting a better example for your friend." I felt a surge of panic as Dad's eyes narrowed, his mind clearly racing with a punishment. "I'm going to have to take some drastic measures," he said, his voice dripping with disapproval. "Boris, I want you to go to your room and stay there until I say you can come out." Boris nodded, his ears folding back in submission, and began to make his way to his room. But before he could leave, Dad called out, "And Boris, I'm going to have to take some...precautions to ensure this doesn't happen again." I watched in horror as Dad pulled out a roll of duct tape from the toolbox and approached Boris. "I'm going to have to wrap you up, just in case you get any ideas about roughhousing again." Boris let out a protesting growl as Dad began to wrap the duct tape around his massive arms and legs, effectively immobilizing him. "No, no, no! Not the tape, please!" I cried, feeling a surge of helplessness. But it was too late. Boris was stuck, his limbs bound tightly by the duct tape. I could see the fear and frustration in his eyes, and it broke my heart. "I'm sorry, Boris," I whispered, trying to comfort him. Dad turned to me, his expression unyielding. "And as for you, young one, you're grounded for a week. No TV, no video games, and no leaving the house." I slumped against the wall, feeling defeated and worried about Boris's predicament. The storm outside seemed to be raging on, but the real storm was the one brewing inside our cabin, and I had a feeling it was going to be a long and difficult night.