The upstairs hallway was narrow and dim, lit only by the soft yellow glow of a single lamp. The party below had dissolved into silence, leaving behind the faint hum of the old refrigerator and the occasional whisper of wind against the windows.
Elena stumbled as Logan pushed her forward. Cyrus followed behind her like a shadow, his fingers brushing against the small of her back. Dean closed the distance at her side, his hand firm around her wrist. Their steps echoed on the hardwood floor, slow and steady. The lake outside pressed its darkness against the house like a weight.
She tried to breathe evenly, but the air felt heavy. Her skin burned where their hands had touched her on the deck. She told herself to scream, to fight, to do something. But her voice stayed trapped somewhere in the
