Kendric starts toward the door, his movements stiff, too measured, as if each step is being forced through thick resistance. Something in the air shifts with him, subtle but undeniable, like the room just lost a degree of warmth.My eyes track him, unease crawling beneath my skin like cold fingers trailing along my spine.Ever since I asked about the “mad dog,” his answer has lingered. It was half-formed, evasive. He gave me just enough to silence the moment, but not the truth. Not the part that matters.He reaches the door again, his hand hovering over the knob, knuckles pale with tension. He still hasn’t looked back. Hasn’t reached for my hand. Not even a glance. Like he's already halfway gone.Something is definitely wrong. I can feel it in my gut, in the silence pressing at my ears like static.“Kendric,” I say, voice sharper now, edged with fear that I didn’t mean to show. “What are you hiding?”The question hangs heavy between us, thickening the air. He freezes, but not fully, j
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