The drive across town took twenty minutes.
Gabriel navigated familiar streets, one hand on the wheel, the other linked with Ethan's.
The neighborhood changed gradually—less polished, more lived-in, trees lining sidewalks where children's chalk drawings decorated the pavement.
"That's it," Gabriel said, nodding toward a large Victorian house.
Ethan leaned forward slightly.
The building was exactly as Gabriel had described—old but well-maintained, three stories of faded yellow paint and white trim, a wide porch with rocking chairs, a playground visible in the side yard where swings moved gently in the breeze.
Gabriel parked on the street. For a moment, he just sat there, looking at the house.
"You okay?" Ethan asked quietly.
"Yeah. Just—" Gabriel's hand tightened on his. "It's been a while. I always feel like I'm coming home when I'm here."
"Then let's go home."
They walked up the front path together. Before Gabriel could knock, the door swung open.
