Chapter 7
Deputy Miller stepped into the hallway, his hand resting on the holster of his service belt, his eyes sweeping the dim interior with practiced calm. He spotted Elena standing at the top of the stairs, her silhouette framed by the harsh light of the bedroom behind her. "Are you Elena Vance?" he asked, his voice low and gravelly, carrying the distinct cadence of rural Michigan. Elena nodded once, gripping the wooden banister for support as a wave of dizziness passed over her. "Yes," she said, her voice barely above a whisper, though it echoed clearly in the quiet house. Miller signaled for two officers behind him to clear the upper rooms, their flashlights cutting bright cones through the shadows. Julian appeared behind Elena, his hands raised halfway, his mouth opening and closing without sound. "She's lying, it was all an act, a production," Julian stammered, his eyes darting wildly toward the deputy. Miller didn't look at Julian; he kept his gaze fixed on Elena, assessing her physical state with a sharp, professional eye.
