Maya’s POV
The inside of my childhood home looked wrong.
The new family had painted the walls beige, hung different pictures, filled the space with furniture I didn’t recognize. But the layout was the same—the stairs I’d once raced up every morning, the living room where Dad used to read to us before bed.
It should have felt like coming home.
Instead, it felt like walking through a museum of a life that no longer existed.
Jake sat on the couch, hands bound with zip ties, duct tape across his mouth. His eyes went wide when he saw me, a muffled sound escaping behind the tape.
“Jake!” I started toward him—but Victoria stepped between us.
“Not yet,” she said, her voice hoarse, tired. “First, we talk.”
I forced myself to focus on her instead of my brother. She looked like she’d been thr
