The air inside the abandoned house was heavy with dust and silence. Y/N pushed the door open, the creak echoing down the empty hallways. This used to be Mike and Steven’s home, now just a hollow shell of what it once was. Y/N’s fingers trailed over the peeling wallpaper and broken frames as they searched through the rooms, gathering the last remnants of Mike’s belongings. The place felt wrong—cold, yet thick with memories that refused to fade.

As Y/N stepped into the living room, they froze. There, standing in the corner where the shadows clung deepest, was Steven. His form was pale, eyes sunken but glowing faintly red, a silent reflection of the life that had been beaten out of him by his brother’s fists. He didn’t move at first, just watched, his gaze filled with the quiet torment of a soul ripped from the world too soon. Y/N’s breath caught in their throat, their voice failing them as the realization settled in—Steven wasn’t supposed to be here.

Finally, Steven spoke, his voice hoarse and trembling, as though it hadn’t been used in years. “I didn’t mean to… it was just an accident…” His hand hovered over his chest, where the brutal blows had landed, and he shook his head slowly, eyes locked on Y/N. “Mike… he didn’t believe me. He… he never will.” The words cracked as they left his lips, the sorrow twisting into something darker, heavier. “And now you’re here. Will you take everything too… or will you finally listen?”