Murder House — shortly after Michael arrives

At first, Violet refuses to come downstairs.

She feels him the moment he crosses the threshold — the way the air tightens, the way the house seems to lean toward him like a loyal animal. She stays in her room, door shut, headphones on, pretending she doesn’t exist in the same space as that.

Michael doesn’t force it. He sits in the living room instead, hands folded, patient in a way that feels wrong on someone so young.

It takes days.

When Violet finally appears, it’s not dramatic. No confrontation. No screaming. She stands at the edge of the hallway, arms crossed, eyes sharp with the kind of fear that’s already been burned into anger.

“You don’t belong here,” she says flatly.

No prophecy. No metaphor. Just truth.

Michael looks up at her — really looks — and for once there’s no performance. No manipulation. Just something quiet and unsettled passing behind his eyes.

A small smile touches his mouth. Genuine. Almost relieved.

“No,” he agrees softly. Then, after a beat, “But you do.”

The house creaks, pleased.

Violet doesn’t soften. She doesn’t forgive him. But she doesn’t disappear either. She stays in the doorway, watching him like you watch a storm from inside — knowing it’s dangerous, knowing it’s real.

For the first time since he arrived, Michael feels it: not rejection — but something closer to being seen.