The car slowed as we turned onto the familiar street.
The house looked the same — tall, dark brick, the front light still broken the way it had been the last time I left.
Sam parked without a word.
He killed the engine. The silence that followed felt heavier than the rain.
I didn't move.
Neither did he.
Then the front door opened.
William stood there first, arms crossed, jaw tight. Behind him I caught a flash of red hair — David, already scowling. Then the others filled the doorway one by one, like they'd been waiting exactly where I left them.
Seven pairs of eyes.
I stepped out into the cold.
The rain was fine and sharp against my face. Sam came around the car and walked slightly behind me, close enough that I could feel the heat of him without being touched.
William spoke first.
His voice was low. Controlled.
"You came back."
Not a question.
Not a welcome either.
I nodded once.
"I did."
Derick mouth twisted. "Took you long enough."
I opened my mouth, but nothing useful came out.
The words I'd rehearsed on the plane felt childish now.
Joshua stepped forward, quieter than the rest. His silver-grey hair was damp from the rain he'd walked through to reach me. He didn't say anything. He just looked at me the way he always had — like he was measuring how much of me had changed, and how much still belonged here.
Then David, the youngest, broke the stillness.
"You're shivering."
I hadn't noticed.
Before I could answer, he was already shrugging off his jacket and holding it out. The others watched in silence as I took it. The fabric still held his warmth.
Sam's hand brushed the small of my back — just once, light enough to be accidental. It wasn't.
William finally stepped aside.
"Inside," he said. "Before you catch something."
I walked past them.
The hallway smelled the same — wood polish, rain, and something sharper underneath that I had never been able to name.
Behind me the door closed.
The lock clicked into place.
I stood in the middle of the entrance hall and felt it settle over me again:
The weight of being watched.
The quiet claim of seven people who had never learned how to let go.
Sam's voice came from just behind my shoulder, soft enough that only I could hear it.
"You stayed away long enough."
I didn't turn around.
"I know."
His breath warmed the side of my neck for half a second.
"Don't do it again."
It wasn't a request.
I turned then.
Sam's eyes were darker than I remembered. The kind of dark that didn't ask permission.
Behind him the others had already moved closer, forming a loose circle without anyone giving an order. William still stood nearest the door, arms folded, but the rest of them had drifted in like gravity had simply changed direction the moment I walked through it.
Joshua was the first to speak again.
"You look different."
"So do you," I said.
He almost smiled. Almost. "We got tired of waiting politely."
Derick voice cut in, quieter. "We weren't polite before either."
I felt the truth of that settle under my skin.
David was still watching me with that open, slightly wounded expression he never quite managed to hide. "Did you… miss us?"
The question was soft. Dangerous in its softness.
I could have lied.
I didn't.
"Yes."
Something shifted in the air.
Seven chests rose and fell at the same time, like the whole house had been holding its breath.
William pushed off the wall.
"Then why did you leave?"
The question landed clean and sharp. No anger in it. Just the demand for an answer that had been owed for years.
I looked at him. At all of them.
"Because I was scared to tell you I was being bullied and I was feeling insecure."
Silence again.
The heavy kind.
Sam's hand found the back of my neck this time — not gentle, not rough, just certain. His thumb rested against the side of my throat where my pulse jumped.
"And now?" he asked, voice low enough that it felt private even with six other people listening.
I met his eyes.
"I'm not scared anymore."
His grip tightened a fraction.
"But you're not leaving."
It wasn't a question this time either.
I shook my head once.
"No."
Joshua exhaled like something inside him had finally unclenched. David's shoulders dropped. Derick gaze softened at the edges, though the intensity never left.
William studied me for a long moment, then gave a single nod — the closest thing to acceptance he knew how to offer.
"Good."
He turned and walked deeper into the house. The others followed after a beat, but none of them went far. They lingered in doorways, on the stairs, near the kitchen entrance — close enough to keep me in their peripheral vision.
Sam stayed where he was.
His hand slid from my neck to my shoulder, then down my arm until his fingers loosely circled my wrist. The touch was casual. The claim underneath it was not.
"You're sleeping upstairs," he said. "Your old room's still yours. We never touched it."
I nodded, throat tight.
I'm suddenly feeling all nervous, everyone's acting like I died or something.
He leaned in just enough that his mouth brushed the shell of my ear.
"And if you try to run again…"
A pause.
"…we won't let you get as far as the door this time."
I blushed but I didn't pull away.
The rain kept tapping against the windows.
Inside, the house finally felt warm.