Abigail’s POV
Mum hums to a song I don't know, softly as she moves around the kitchen, setting the table with a practiced ease that feels almost calming.
Almost.
I sit at the table, my hands wrapped around a warm mug of tea. The steam curls upward, but I barely notice. My thoughts are being pulled back to last night's encounter. The strange room, Nathan’s reaction, and the fear in his voice when he told me to leave.
There’s something about that room, something he doesn’t want me to know. It isn’t just about boundaries; it feels like there's more. Like the room is guarding a secret that’s been locked away for a reason.
I glance up at Ricky, sitting at the head of the table. His face is buried in his newspaper spread open. His expression is calm, his focus seemingly absorbed in the news
