Scarlet
The house had settled into a kind of tense quiet, the air stiff with fear and fading adrenaline. The storm outside had passed, but inside, thunder still cracked in our bones. My parents and Declan huddled near the dining table, voices hushed but sharp, threading through plans and names like stitching a lifeline.
I could hear the clink of my father’s ring against the wooden table, the way he tapped it in thought. My mother’s pacing was slower now, more deliberate. Declan leaned forward with his hands steepled, his jaw set, and his eyes flaring with the urgency of a man trying to stop a wildfire with a single matchstick.
I stayed back, letting the scene blur in the periphery. I wasn’t ready to sit at that table yet. My body was still sore from everything—physically, mentally, soul
