*"The past has claws, and family secrets rarely stay buried."
— Dylan Reed
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Dylan's Point of View
Morning broke through the thin crack of my curtains like an unwanted guest.
I hadn't slept much—only drifted in and out of uneasy dreams filled with shadows wearing familiar faces.
When I finally dragged myself out of bed, the house was already alive with quiet movement: the muffled sound of Mrs Roxa giving orders to the kitchen staff, the soft clink of plates.
I showered, dressed in a dark suit, but the restlessness in my chest wouldn't go away. Today we were heading to the Reed family house. The summons itself had been short and sharp—urgent. Urgent in our world usually meant one of two things: either something with the company's board, or something that could rip open old wounds.
By the time I came downstairs, Ava was already there.
