(LIAM'S POV)
The screen door slammed behind me, the sound sharp and final, like a gunshot echoing through the stillness of the house. My heart was pounding so hard I could feel it in my throat, my palms slick with sweat as I followed Roland through the kitchen, past the living room, and up the stairs. Every step felt heavier than the last, like the house itself was trying to hold me back, trying to keep me from witnessing what I knew was coming.
Roland moved ahead of me with long, purposeful strides, his back rigid, his shoulders squared. He didn't look back. He didn't say a word. He just climbed the stairs, his bare feet silent on the wooden steps, his jaw set in that hard, unreadable way that told me he was holding something back—something big.
