It's not really a house.
Just a box of rotting wood and rusted dreams tucked somewhere between the map's edge and memory.
But I know it well.
We used to come here — me, Teni, and the others — before the world taught us about betrayal.
Before the lessons turned bloody.
Before silence became our sanctuary.
Maya drives.
I watch the trees blur past the window, a slow, grieving green.
Neither of us speaks.
---
When we get there, the air feels heavier.
Like the trees are holding their breath.
The front door is barely hanging on its hinges.
I step inside first, slow and calculated.
Everything smells like damp wood and the past.
I find the trapdoor beneath the floorboard.
Same place it always was.
We descend into darkness, flashlight shaking in my hand.
The basement is cold. Quiet. Too quiet.
Then I see it —
A chair in the center.
A single bulb swinging overhead.
And on the floor: a red scarf.
My red scarf.
---
Maya exhales beside me.
"You said you left it behind."
"I did."
So who brought it here?
On the wall behind the chair, written in charcoal like a warning:
> AYO – THEY KNOW.
I feel my chest tighten.
They're not guessing anymore.
They're sending messages.
And they chose this place for a reason.
---
We check the room for traps.
Nothing explosive, but the camera in the corner is blinking red.
Recording.
I rip it out of the wall and crush it beneath my boot.
Too late.
They've already seen us.
---
Back upstairs, I take one last look at the room.
Where we used to laugh.
Where we first tested the pills that made the monsters sleep.
This place was once a lab.
Now it's a stage.
I lock the door behind me.
Not for safety.
For burial.
---
Back in the car, Maya finally says it.
"I'm scared, Ayo."
I nod.
"You should be."
---
But me?
I'm not scared anymore.
I'm angry.
They touched something sacred.
A memory.
A message.
They want to play.
They forgot who wrote the rules.
---
And me?
I've stopped following them.