Jackson's POV
The sky was still heavy with clouds when I pulled up in front of the Greenne house.
I glanced at my watch.
7:07 p.m.
Too early for a house this silent.
Too calm.
I turned off the engine but stayed still for a few seconds, my hands clenched around the steering wheel. A dull pressure crushed my chest—one I knew far too well.
The kind that whispers you're already too late.
I finally slammed the car door and walked toward the house.
At the front door, I raised my hand to knock—
and froze.
The door was ajar.
My heart dropped.
"Avery…" I breathed, my voice barely there.
I pushed the door open.
The sound it made echoed through the emptiness like an insult. As soon as I stepped inside, something shattered beneath my foot.
A vase lay on the floor, broken into pieces.
What the hell happened here?
I took another step.
Then another.
And I saw the living room.
Or rather… what was left of it.
The coffee table was smashed. Cushions littered the floor. A picture frame had been torn from the wall, its glass cracked, as if someone had struck it in rage.
Nothing was where it belonged.
"Fuck…" I muttered.
Then the smell hit me.
Sharp.
Metallic.
Blood.
My throat tightened so badly I struggled to breathe. My body started moving before my mind could catch up. I crossed the living room, each step heavier than the last.
No. This isn't possible. Not them.
The kitchen came into view.
I saw it before I understood it.
A pair of sneakers stuck out from behind the counter.
I stopped dead.
I knew those shoes.
"No… no, no… not this…"
My voice shook, betraying what I still refused to accept. I moved forward slowly, as if delaying the moment could somehow change the outcome.
When I finally rounded the counter, my legs nearly gave out.
Kevin was there.
Lying on the floor.
Motionless.
The world seemed to shut down around me.
I dropped to my knees beside him, my hands trembling as I pressed my fingers to his neck.
No pulse.
Nothing.
Just cold.
"Kevin…" I whispered, my voice breaking.
My chest tightened violently. A deep, crushing guilt rose inside me, tangled with raw anger.
This is my fault.
If I hadn't hesitated.
If I hadn't been stuck in that damn meeting.
If I hadn't believed "it would be fine."
I clenched my fists, my nails digging into my palms.
"I told you to stay discreet…" I whispered, as if he could still hear me.
A wave of rage surged through me.
Someone did this.
Someone broke in here.
Someone—
but who?
And Avery…
My heart clenched again, even harder.
If Kevin was dead…
then Avery…
My throat went dry, tight.
I shot to my feet and started shouting her name as I rushed upstairs. I flung open every door, violently, desperate for any sign of life.
Nothing.
No one.
If I'd gotten here a little earlier…
"FUCK!" I yelled, slamming my fist into the wall in front of me.
I was boiling inside—a toxic mix of anger, guilt, and helplessness. I forced myself to breathe, trying to calm down enough to analyze the situation.
That's when my phone rang again.
Claire.
I barely had time to answer.
"So?" she asked, her voice tight with worry.
"You were right," I sighed, my voice heavy with dread. "And it's worse than we thought."
---
A few minutes later
The sound of sirens still rang in my ears.
Blue and red lights flooded the Greenne house, casting shifting shadows across the façade. The street buzzed—hushed murmurs, whispered theories, the neighbors' palpable anxiety. It all reached me as if through a fog.
I still couldn't process what had just happened.
Everything felt heavy around me.
The tension.
The air.
Even the coolness of the night.
I was in the middle of being questioned by the sheriff's deputies when a voice spoke behind me.
"Jackson."
I turned around.
It was my uncle. He'd arrived as fast as possible after my call. He wasn't alone—two other Council members stood with him. He stepped closer and placed a firm hand on my shoulder, a gesture both protective and grounding.
At the same moment, the sheriff joined us.
"Mr. Young," he said, extending his hand.
"Sheriff," my uncle replied, shaking it.
The sheriff's gaze shifted to me immediately.
"How are you holding up, Jackson?"
"I've been better," I answered, forcing my voice to stay calm.
He nodded slightly, as if already taking note.
"Could you explain once more what happened?"
I sighed quietly.
"As I already told your deputy…"
I started from the beginning: Claire's call, my bad feeling, my arrival at the house, the open door, the state of the living room… and Kevin.
As I spoke, the sheriff scribbled in his notebook. His eyes never left me, as if he were analyzing every movement, every shift in my tone. His expression tightened briefly before he looked up.
"You knew the victim?"
"Yes. Kevin."
"Kevin," he repeated.
He paused.
"Did he have any connection to the Greenne family?"
"Not that I know of. I'd even say they didn't know each other at all."
The sheriff tilted his head slightly.
"Then how do you explain his presence here tonight?"
His gaze locked onto mine.
"Given that they have no direct connection… except you."
I felt my leg bounce despite myself, my fingers tapping nervously against my thigh.
"I don't know," I said honestly.
"Are you sure about that, Jackson?"
I held his gaze.
"Yes."
A heavy, tense silence followed.
Then my uncle stepped in.
"Are we done for now?"
The sheriff closed his notebook.
"Yes. For now. But we'll need his official statement later. He'll have to come by the station."
"He will," my uncle replied without hesitation.
Then, placing his hand back on my shoulder:
"But for now, we're going home. He's exhausted."
The sheriff nodded slowly, never taking his eyes off me.
---