Amara's POV :
The woman stood in the doorway staring at us like we were ghosts and the trash bag sat at her feet where she'd dropped it.
"No," she said again and started to close the door.
Roman put his hand on it. "Mrs. Moss, please. We just need to talk to you."
"I don't know you. I don't know anything. You need to leave."
"I'm Amara Reyes," I said quickly. "My father was—"
"I know who your father was." Her voice was sharp and scared. "That's why you need to leave. Now."
She pushed harder on the door but Roman didn't move his hand.
"Please," I said. "My father died sixteen years ago and I don't know why. I just need answers."
"You shouldn't have come here." Linda looked past us at the street like she expected someone to be watching. "You shouldn't have come."
"We drove three hours," Roman said and his voice was calm but firm. "We're not leaving until you talk to us."
