The drive through the rain was quiet.
The girl—Emma—sat in the passenger seat, holding onto the bicycle handles like they were her lifeline.
“Turn here,” she said softly, pointing toward a narrow street lined with broken streetlights.
The neighborhood looked forgotten.
Cracked sidewalks.
Boarded windows.
A silence that spoke of people who had learned not to ask questions.
Rocco parked in front of a small, worn-down house. The door hung slightly crooked. The windows were dark—no electricity.
Even before stepping out, he could feel the cold emptiness inside.
Emma climbed out slowly.
“She’s probably sleeping,” she said. “It hurts less when you’re asleep.”
Those words hit harder than anything Rocco had heard in years.
They walked to the door. Emma pulled a key from beneath a loose brick and unlocked it.
Inside… there was nothing.
No furniture.
No lights.
Just bare walls and a cold floor.
And in the corner…
a woman lay wrapped in a thin blanket.
