The basement smelled of smoke and sweat, fear thick as dust. Cormac "Hollow" Vance stood at the bottom of the stairs, cigarette glowing like a coal in the dark. He didn't raise his voice—he didn't need to. His silence carried weight heavier than Ezra's fists.
"Sit down," he said.
Ezra dropped Silas hard into a chair, the kid's ribs rattling against the wood. Silas wheezed, clutching his side, eyes wide with terror.
Hollow paced slow, each step making the boards groan. "You hear me talk about choice?" he asked. "You think there's a choice here? No. We all chose already, when we zipped them bags and dropped 'em in the dirt."
He leaned close to Silas, smoke curling into the boy's face. "You don't get to crack now. You crack, you break us all. And if you break us…" His hand rested lightly on Silas's shoulder, almost gentle. "…then I break you first."
Ezra grinned at that, nodding like he'd been waiting for permission. Naomi stood against the wall, arms crossed, her face calm but her eyes sharp, watching every flicker in Hollow's expression.
Silas shook his head, tears streaking down his face. "It's not me—it's the house. It's… it's under there, I can feel it—"
Hollow slammed his fist into the wall beside him, plaster raining down. His voice cut like glass. "The only thing under there is money. You wanna live? You remember that. You tell yourself that until it's true."
The house creaked again, long and low, almost mocking. Hollow glanced at the boards, then back at his crew, his face hollow of anything human.
"We keep it buried. All of it. That's the only way forward. Nobody opens that floor again. Nobody."
He let the words hang heavy, then turned to climb the stairs.
Naomi's voice followed him, soft but sharp. "What happens when it opens on its own?"
Hollow didn't answer. The door shut behind him, leaving the others in silence.
Silas's quiet sobs filled the basement, Ezra's knuckles cracked in the dark, and Naomi's eyes lingered on the floorboards—like she was waiting for them to move.