Sam
It's 4 AM when we finally get home.
The house is dark and quiet, exactly how we left it hours ago—before the warehouse, before the auction, before everything changed.
My dad unlocks the front door and holds it open for me. I walk through, Knox's jacket still wrapped around my shoulders, and stand in the entryway like I'm not sure where to go.
Everything looks the same.
The couch where I sat scrolling through f*******: messages about Tina. The kitchen table where my dad and I have eaten breakfast a thousand times. The stairs leading up to my room.
But nothing feels the same.
My dad closes the door behind us and locks it—two deadbolts and the chain. I hear him check the windows in the living room, then the kitchen. Old habits. Protective instincts that never turn off.
"You hungry
