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Rotted.
Cradling a photograph to her chest.
I lean closer and light the pit with my phone.
The photo is grainy, burned at the edges, but I can still make out the face.
Me.
Standing in my childhood bedroom.
Beside me?
Not Damien.
Someone else.
Smiling.
Missing a front tooth.
The same boy I forgot.
The one who whistled lullabies.
He’s older now.
And he’s been waiting.
A sound echoes behind me.
Not the whistle.
Breathing.
Just above my ear.
A whisper.
Too close.
Too familiar.
“Found you.”
CHAPTER TWENTY
DAMIEN
The street is too quiet when I return.
No wind.
No headlights.
No light spilling from the windows.
Just silence.
