The Afton house sat like any other on the block—faded paint, a squeaky screen door, and the muffled sound of some old rock band playing inside. It was mid-afternoon, school was out, and the sun was already beginning to dip low in the sky, casting long shadows across the sidewalk.

Eight-year-old Evan Afton walked alone, his backpack nearly dragging on the pavement. His steps were small and hesitant, head down, fingers twitching nervously with the zipper of his jacket. Elizabeth had walked with him halfway, but ditched as soon as Charlie came running down the sidewalk. Evan didn’t blame her. Not really. But the quiet made everything feel louder—every crunch of a leaf, every bark of a dog, every gust of wind.

He hated being alone.

Inside the house, Michael Afton was sprawled across the couch, one leg up, a scratched guitar on his lap. He wasn’t playing anything in particular, just lazily strumming chords over and over again while some VHS horror movie flickered on the TV in front of him. He wore his usual gray tank top, his mullet still damp from a quick shower after school, and the sleeves of his flannel hung tied around his waist like he couldn’t commit to weather.

The front door creaked open.

Michael glanced over, expression unreadable. “You’re late.”

Evan flinched. “I—I walked.”

“Obviously.” Michael didn’t look up again, letting his pick scrape a little too hard against the string. “Where’s Liz?”

“She’s at Charlie’s.”

Michael didn’t say anything right away. Evan stood frozen in the doorway like a shadow, not moving, not speaking. He hated how his voice always shook, how it always felt like the world was just too loud or too fast. The hallway light buzzed. The TV glitched. His hands curled tighter around his backpack straps.

Michael finally glanced up again, more annoyed than concerned. “You’re not crying, are you?”

Evan blinked fast, throat tight. “No.”

A pause.

Then a sigh.

Michael reached for the remote, turned down the volume on the TV, and set the guitar aside with a lazy thunk. “You hungry or something?”

Evan gave a small nod.

“Go put your stuff down. I’ll make you a grilled cheese or whatever.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Don’t tell Dad.”