The second door slid open with a reluctant hiss, as though the room itself resisted being exposed. Carson stepped inside first, jaw clenched, feeling the weight of a memory he had tried to bury for years. Reese followed close, the air growing heavier around them, thicker than smoke, colder than fear.

This room was nothing like the reconstructed bedroom.

It was clinical.

White.

Bright.

Sterile.

Too clean for a place built on so much ruin.

Justina scanned the space, brow furrowing. “What is ...