Ximena's POV
When Anton finally pushed through the front door, I had already finished half the dishes, my hair twisted into a haphazard knot. The evening stretched endlessly before me, filled with a silence that pressed against my eardrums, so I busied myself with meaningless tasks to avoid my own thoughts.
The house felt hollow except for the refrigerator's persistent hum and the occasional ceramic clink. Mom wouldn't return from her shift until well past midnight, leaving just Anton, me, and the relentless weight of everything I couldn't stop thinking about.
Everything that led back to Ezekiel Enzo.
