Helena's POV
I stand frozen outside the house that raised me, my heart hammering against my ribs. The once-charming blue paint now peels like diseased skin, and the brown shutters dangle at crooked angles, threatening to fall with the next strong wind.
Yannis's face twists with obvious distaste beside me, while Asher's expression remains carefully neutral. His silence somehow cuts deeper than Yannis's open judgment.
The front door protests with a bone-deep creak as I push it open, as if the house itself resents my return. Dust and old pine assault my senses immediately, each breath carrying fragments of a childhood I'd rather forget. This place wore the mask of home once, but now it feels like a corpse dressed in familiar clothes.
