The palace-like mansion of the Williams loomed before them as Brian pulled over. Athena's fingers curled into her palms the moment she saw them—Scott, Imelda, and Natalie—already waiting at the entrance of the villa. Her pulse stuttered.
Imelda's smile bloomed, far too bright, far too eager.
"You are welcome, Athena."
Athena nodded, mechanically. She wasn't sure her voice would work if she tried to speak.
Natalie rolled her eyes, her lips twisting. "Are you not being a little too proud of yourself?"
"Not now, Natalie," Scott said sharply.
Then his tone shifted as he looked at Athena, gentler, careful—as if she were something fragile that might break.
"Come on in."
Her feet moved, though she barely felt them.
Inside, silence swallowed them whole—thick, suffocating, pressing against her ears until it roared louder than any sound ever could. Athena's breath grew shallow. Too shallow.
Then she saw it.
The portrait.
Her vision tunneled, locking onto the smiling man frozen in the frame. Her heart slammed violently against her ribs.
No. No, no, no—
Her father.
The same smile. The same eyes. The same man she remembered screaming for as blood stained the floor. The same man she remembered collapsing, his legs giving way beneath him as gunshots tore through the air.
Her lungs burned.
Caution disintegrated. Rowena's warnings shattered like glass, scattering far from her mind. Thoughts crashed into her all at once, relentless, merciless.
How is he? Is he alive? Has he been treated? Is he in pain right now? Is he calling for me?
Her chest tightened until it hurt to breathe.
That man in the portrait… her father.
The man who ran beside her bike, laughing, refusing to let go until she found her balance.
Her dad. Her best buddy.
The only man who ever understood her silence.
The man who told her to hold her head high—always—even when the world tried to crush her.
Her vision blurred. The room tilted.
She couldn't stay. She couldn't breathe. She couldn't think.
Suddenly, she turned and bolted.
Athena ran—out of the house, out of the suffocating walls, her breath tearing from her throat as panic chased her faster than her legs could carry her. Confusion and shock trailed behind her like echoes.
"Athena!" Imelda shouted, panic breaking through her voice as she turned to Scott. "I want to follow her!"
Scott nodded once, grave. "Be careful."
"Okay," Imelda said, already moving, already afraid. She beckoned Brian urgently. "Bring the car over."
Brian hurried toward her. "Okay, ma."
And inside the mansion, beneath the unblinking gaze of a smiling portrait, the past continued to haunt the present—silent, watching, waiting.