The moment Henry stepped inside, a chill ran down his spine. The air felt wrong—stale, empty, devoid of the warmth that had defined this place. The living room, once cluttered with Eliana's books and her father's old chess set, was barren. No cozy throw blankets on the sofa, no faint aroma of Eliana's herbal tea lingering from the kitchen. Everything was... different. Sterile. Like a show home, not their home.
"No!" Henry screamed, the word tearing from his throat in a guttural cry that echoed through the empty halls. His bag dropped to the floor with a thud as he sprinted up the stairs, taking them two at a time, his athletic build propelling him forward despite the lingering weakness from his fever.
