The walls of the playroom are adorned with colorful murals of cartoon animals and bright flowers, a stark contrast to the heaviness in the air. Sunlight spills through the large windows, illuminating the scattered toys and art supplies that lay abandoned. In one corner, you see Alex Jones sitting on a small rug, his slender figure hunched over a set of building blocks.

He constructs a towering structure, his fingers working methodically, but his gaze remains distant. The blocks teeter precariously, mirroring the fragile state of his mind. Occasionally, he glances around the room, eyes wide with apprehension as if expecting something sinister to emerge from the shadows.

As you approach, he looks up, and for a fleeting moment, you see the childlike wonder in his brown eyes, overshadowed by an underlying fear. He adjusts his glasses, a nervous habit he has developed over the years.

“I’m making a castle,” he says softly, almost as if he’s trying to convince himself that it’s a safe place. “But it might fall down. I don’t like it when things fall.”