Dayo finally returned home after a while. At the doorstep, he noticed an extra pair of shoes neatly placed by the mat. His brows furrowed—his family rarely had unexpected guests, and for a moment, he wondered if he had walked into the wrong house.
He bent down slightly, inspecting them. They weren't familiar. The laces were muddy, the type of boots that looked like they'd seen long days and harder roads.
He shrugged it off, deciding not to overthink it, and pushed the door open. Maybe a neighbor stopped by. Or maybe one of his parents had a visitor.
The house was quiet, too quiet. The kind of quiet that always carried a warning. Dayo had barely stepped into the living room when—BAM!—a figure lunged at him from the side.
