"Who are you… and what are you doing in my house?" Brooklyn's voice was steady, though her fingers curled slightly at her sides, betraying the calm she was trying to maintain.
He did not answer immediately.
He was watching her.
Not with surprise. Not with curiosity.
But with a quiet certainty, as though he already understood more about her than she was ready to admit.
"Your parents sent me," he said at last.
His voice was calm and assured, carrying no hesitation. It was not loud, yet it filled the space between them with something unsettlingly final.
And somehow, that made her unease deepen.
"Where are my parents?" Brooklyn asked, her voice tightening slightly.
"I'm here to take you to them," he replied.
He remained at the doorway, not stepping in, as though waiting for permission that had not yet been spoken.
"Where are they?" she pressed again.
"Come with me, please."
"No. Call her."
The refusal came sharper this time.
