Jonathan's POV
I braced myself before opening the door, expecting chaos.
My imagination had already crafted the scene I would find: Ethel would be cornered with a weapon trained on Dennis, blood staining the walls while he nursed fresh wounds. The air would reek of violence and desperation.
Instead, I walked into something far more unsettling.
Dennis sat comfortably in Ethel's favorite armchair, delicately holding one of her china teacups like he belonged there. She watched him with obvious distrust, her wolfbane pistol resting across her knees but completely still. Unused. The most jarring sight of all was the small boy I had rescued from Norman Swanson's abuse months ago. The same child I had personally delivered to Savannah's care, pleading with her to give him a safe home.
Now that boy sat pressed against Dennis's side, tears streaming down his face as he whispered the word 'mommy' over and over.
