He reached the heavy oak door and didn't bother to knock. He stepped inside, the sudden warmth of the hallway pressing against his cold cheeks like a hand.
"Elias? That you?" his father called from the kitchen, the clink of a teapot settling the last of his nerves. Coming Home in the Dark
Every snap of a twig made his heart kick against his ribs. He found himself walking faster, his breath hitching. It’s just the woods, he told himself. It’s just the wind. But the dark has a way of peeling back the layers of adulthood, leaving behind the shivering child who still believes in what hides under the bed. Then, he saw it—a soft, amber pulse in the distance. He reached the heavy oak door and didn't bother to knock
It was the porch light of his father’s house. It was weak, struggling against the fog, but it was there. As he crested the final hill, the smell of woodsmoke cut through the salt air. The tension in his shoulders, which he hadn't even realized he was carrying, finally broke. That you
He was inside. The shadows were back to being just shadows. He was home.