The door creaked open just a sliver, revealing an old man with sunken eyes and a lined face. His shoulders were stooped, his voice gravel-thin when he finally spoke. “What do you want?” There was no hostility in the words, only a tired sadness, like someone who had answered too many questions in a life filled with loss.
Ethan swallowed, nerves tightening his throat. The photograph trembled in his hand, half-hidden, the weight of the key pressing against his palm. He hadn’t expected the man to look so fragile, so worn, and yet the moment felt charged, as though everything had led him here.