Liam's Guilt

The chill wasn't just in the air anymore; it was a creeping, insidious thing that wormed its way into Liam's bones, a cold that had nothing to do with the drafty windows of the old house. He stood in the grand foyer, the faint moonlight casting long, skeletal shadows from the wrought-iron staircase. The silence here was a heavy blanket, suffocating, punctuated only by the frantic thumping of his own heart. It had been Maya’s idea, of course, to explore again, to try and piece together what had happened, what *was* happening. But Liam felt a growing unease, a primal urge to bolt, to drag Maya and Chloe out of this goddamn place and never look back. Noah, as usual, was a ghost in his own right, somewhere in the house, doing whatever it was he did.

“Liam, are you coming?” Maya’s voice, usually so bright, was a thin thread of sound from the upper landing. She was holding a flashlight, its beam dancing erratically across the peeling wallpaper.

He forced a breath, trying to shake off the prickling sensation on his skin. “Yeah, just… taking it all in.” A lie. He was trying not to fall apart.