They arrived at Ethan’s house.
The car rolled to a stop in front of a narrow, two-story building squeezed between a laundromat and a small grocery store. The street was quiet, lit only by a single flickering bulb above the entrance and the pale glow from a few upstairs windows. Paint peeled from the front door in long strips, and the metal stairs leading up to the second-floor apartments groaned under even the lightest weight.
Ethan killed the engine. The sudden silence felt loud.
James was still slumped in the passenger seat, head tipped against the window, eyes half-open now. He hadn’t spoken since handing over the keys.
Ethan glanced at him. “We’re here.”
James grunted. Didn’t move.
Ethan got out first, walked around to the passenger side, and opened the door. Cold night air rushe
