Chapter 2
The slip was accidental, yet it felt violently intentional. As Leo’s grip loosened, the white decorative urn slipped through his fingers, plunging downward in what felt like agonizing slow motion. It struck the wooden floor with a sharp, echoing crack, bursting into jagged pieces that skittered across the planks. A dense, ghostly white cloud of fine ashes erupted into the air, instantly coating their shoes and swirling in the sunbeams. Arthur reacted instantly, his face contorted in a mask of bitter fury as he stepped forward through the grey dust.
"Your mother is never coming home again!" Arthur shouted, his voice cracking with a raw, ugly desperation that filled the bright room.
Claire flinched, stepping back slightly, her hands rising defensively. But Leo didn't cry. He didn't scream or throw a childish tantrum. Instead, his hazel eyes merely hardened, reflecting the swirling dust motes in the air. He looked down at the ruined porcelain scattered around his sneakers. The ashes at his feet weren't just the remnants of a human body; they were the physical manifestation of a carefully constructed lie. Arthur breathed heavily, his chest heaving beneath his dark navy suit, realizing too late that the illusion had been broken beyond repair. The silence that followed the outburst was heavier than before, pregnant with a terrifying clarity. Leo slowly reached into the pocket of his dark blue zip-up hoodie, his fingers brushing against a smooth, familiar shape. He pulled out his smartphone, the glass screen fractured into a spiderweb of cracks from an earlier, forgotten struggle. The cracked display glowed faintly, casting an eerie blue light against his tear-stained cheeks.
