The house smelled like wet wood and old paper. Even before she turned the key, the scent found its way through the cracks in the doorframe, creeping into her throat like something familiar but long unspoken.
Elise hesitated on the porch, fingers wrapped around the key, her breath visible in the early spring chill. The town hadn’t changed much in fifteen years. Same sagging power lines, same shuttered bookstore on the corner.