Sam's P.O.V.
I stared blankly at the open suitcase on my bed, my hands hovering over the pile of clothes I’d pulled from the closet. Everything felt disconnected, like I was moving through a haze. My mom’s voice echoed in my head: “Pack a few things and essentials. We have to go.”
Go where? I hadn’t even had time to ask.
My fingers trembled as I folded a sweater and set it in the suitcase. The weight of the last 24 hours pressed on me—every sound, every threat, every second of helplessness flashing in my mind. The room felt too quiet now, the silence amplifying the frantic beat of my heart.
“Sam?” Mom’s voice came softly from the doorway. I looked up, blinking away the fog.
“I’m… I’m almost done,” I said, though I’d barely packed half of what I needed. My mind was a whirlwind, unable
