The street outside Owen’s house was wrapped in stillness. A heavy, breathing kind of silence that made everything feel suspended in time. The neighbors’ windows were dark—no porch lights, no TVs flickering behind curtains, no murmurs of life. Just black squares in the siding of every house, like missing eyes.
Perfect.
He stood at the edge of the garden wearing gloves that didn’t belong to him—Ryan’s. Worn leather, creased at the knuckles. The kind of gloves that had seen violence. Now they were going to see more.
Owen pulled the faded surgical mask over his face. It was from the COVID era, shoved in a drawer for years, elastic fraying. It smelled faintly of rubbing alcohol and isolation.
He knelt.
The wolfsbane stared back at him.
Purple flowers, tall and twisted, heads bowed like th
