It was already morning. The Ficher's house smelled like fear.
Not the sharp kind that screamed. The quiet kind that stained the walls.
Fear that soaked into curtains. Clung to door handles. Sat heavy in the air like dust.
No one has slept since the incident. Emma sat on the edge of her bed, hugging her knees to her chest so tightly her knuckles had turned pale. Her shoulders were stiff, locked, like she was afraid that if she moved too much, the night would come back and finish what it started.
Lydia leaned against the far wall, arms wrapped around her own body like she was trying to physically hold herself together. She hadn’t stopped shaking. Her hoodie sleeves were pulled over her hands, like fabric could protect her from memory.
And Pete… sat on the floor.
Not tied up.
Not chain
