Raven
The house felt too quiet when I opened the front door.
It wasn't empty — it was never empty — but quiet in the way a place gets when it's holding its breath. Like it knows something important is about to be said and doesn't want to interrupt.
My body was still sticky from the sweat I accumulated at the gym with Amy this morning. I raised my arm and sniffed and wanted to gag. A shower could wait, though, because Chris was sitting on the couch when I stepped into the living room. His elbows were propped on his knees, hands loosely clasped, and his head hung low. He wasn't looking at anything in particular, but I could tell there were a million and one things on his mind. The distant look in his eyes was a dead giveaway.
The lights were dim, the TV was off. He looked like someone
