Elise’s throat tightened. “He never said there was anything up here. He just told me not to come.” Michael scoffed. “Of course he did. That’s how he worked. Dangle something in front of you, then punish you for wanting it.”
She turned on him, suddenly sharp. “You didn’t know him.” Michael scowled, “I knew enough.” They stood there, surrounded by the slow death of paper and wood. Elise took a shaky breath. The attic smelled like mold and insulation and maybe a trace of old cologne, like the last ghost of a man who never fully lived in the world the way others did.