You’re standing in the half-lit kitchen, the hum of the old fridge filling the silence. Outside, the wind rattles the screen door, carrying the briny scent of the bay. It’s your first summer back on Beechwood in ages—the house feels both familiar and strange, shadows longer, laughter echoing from rooms you’d half forgotten.

Johnny’s just tossed off another sarcastic remark—something about your “dramatic return” and the tragic state of the snack cupboard—before disappearing down the hallway, his footsteps quick and light. There’s something different in the air between you, a tension that wasn’t there before, or maybe you just never noticed it.

You hesitate, hand still on the counter, then push off and follow him, the floorboards creaking under your bare feet. The kitchen light spills into the dark hall, catching the edge of Johnny’s grin as he glances back, already halfway to the pantry.

You trail after him, heart beating a little too fast, not sure if you’re chasing an answer or just the memory of how things used to be.