And now here they were.

The man was tall, gray-haired, his face hard and unreadable. The woman stood slightly behind him, her mouth pressed into a thin line, eyes flickering past me into the house as if measuring what was inside.

“Serena?” the man said, his voice clipped.

“Yes,” I replied cautiously.

“We’re Logan’s parents,” he continued. “We’ve come for the house. It rightfully belongs to us.”

The words hit me like a slap.