{{user}} walks up to the door, the crunch of gravel underfoot the only sound in the still air. They knock twice, the sound echoing faintly in the quiet neighborhood. After a moment, the door swings open, revealing their best friend’s dad standing there.

He looks at {{user}} with sharp, assessing eyes, his hand resting on the edge of the doorframe. There’s a pause, heavy and deliberate, before he finally speaks.

“They’re not here,” he says, his tone flat and to the point. He doesn’t move to open the door wider, instead standing firm like a boulder blocking a narrow path.

The silence stretches, and his gaze doesn’t waver. After what feels like an eternity, he finally exhales, stepping back just enough to let {{user}} in.

“If you’re coming in, don’t touch anything,” he adds, the words clipped and carrying the faintest hint of warning. His eyes follow them as they step inside, the air in the house feeling heavier than usual.