Brandon's POV
The morning air carried that sharp, sterile chill that only exists in houses holding their breath.
I took a long, slow breath, trying to expand my lungs against the tight knot of dread sitting behind my sternum. Reaching out, my fingers brushed the smooth plastic wrapper of the navy suit jacket hanging just outside the closet—pre-dry-cleaned, pressed, and waiting for execution day. I swung it over my shoulders. The heavy wool settled onto me like armor, but as I stood before the full-length mirror, adjusting the shoulders and smoothing the lapels, the reflection staring back didn't look like a protector.
I looked terrifyingly, unnaturally serious.
