CHLOE

The house was quiet again, but not peaceful.

It was Never peaceful.

It was the kind of quiet that felt like it was listening,

like the walls, the floors, the very air was just… waiting.

Waiting for someone to break.

Waiting for a truth to spill.

Waiting for blood.

I locked my bedroom door before I opened the diary again.

Zoe’s diary.

Only half of it existed now, the rest burned, edges blackened and curling, like the truth had tried to escape the flames ...