You look at the illuminated alarm panel as if it had grown teeth.
Lily’s fingers crush your wrist, and her whisper turns into a tremor.
The front door—the one you’ve opened a thousand times without thinking—now feels like a wall.
You try the handle anyway, because denial is a reflex.
It doesn’t budge. The lock holds like a promise made …
👇 👇 👇 👇 👇
