Kyle stands at the door, fists clenched tightly at his sides. His fingers twitch slightly with pent-up tension, nails digging into the flesh of his palms.
The air outside Tanner's house is thick, unmoving, carrying the kind of quiet that feels too intentional, like the world itself is holding its breath.
Evening has crept in softly, casting long shadows across the porch and giving everything a muted glow.
But there's no calm in him. Not a single ounce. His chest is a battlefield, thoughts clashing, breath uneven, a tight knot of dread and desperate resolve tangled somewhere beneath his ribs.
He stares at the door for one long, trembling second, his finger hovering over the bell like a lifeline. Then, before his nerves can betray him again, he presses it.
The chime sounds inside, followed by the faint stirrings of movement, footsteps. His heart slams once, twice, like it's trying to jump out of his chest.
