~ Amara ~
The air in Linden Row always smelled different than at Moore Crest. It smelled like asphalt, old exhaust, and the neighbor’s jasmine vine. At the estate, the air was filtered, chilled, and entirely sterile. Stepping out of the black car and onto the cracked sidewalk felt like finally taking a full breath after weeks of shallow gasping.
I walked up the familiar porch steps. The wood groaned under my feet, a welcoming sound compared to the silent marble of Gideon’s foyer. I didn't knock. I just turned the knob and stepped into the small living room.
Noah was sitting at the kitchen table. A stack of spreadsheets was spread out before him, lit by the yellow glow of a single overhead bulb. He looked up, his eyes widening when he saw me. He didn't smile; he just stood up, his chair
