Sienna

The door opened with a slow creak, and my dad stepped in.

The air in the room went still.

He looked around—his eyes scanning the space, the half-empty cups on the table, the faint echo of laughter that still lingered from earlier. His expression was sharp, suspicious. He didn’t even bother to greet anyone.

“Sienna.” His tone was low, heavy. “Who was here?”

My throat went dry. I could feel the blood drain from my face as I stood there frozen, every sound in the room ...