The taxi slowly rolled to a stop at the end of a long stone driveway. Ethan stepped out, the crunch of gravel under his sneakers echoing slightly in the quiet mountain air.
He looked up.
The White Family's estate stood like a monument to old money—clean, grand, and unnervingly quiet. High pillars framed the porch. The house stretched wide, windows glinting in the soft golden hue of the late afternoon sun. The surrounding forest rustled with wind, and a crow cawed in the distance. It almost felt haunted.
Ethan shoved his hands into his pockets.
His mind raced.
"(Fuck… what should I even say? 'Hey, I'm here to stop your mom from drugging you?' Yeah, good plan, Ethan.)"
He stood at the foot of the stairs for a moment, staring at the white double doors. He could already feel the weight of it all pressing on his chest. The "plot" from his past life. The characters. The consequences.
Then he exhaled and started walking.
One step. Two. Three.
