Wrong House

The air in Orlando hung heavy, thick with the weight of summer's final days. ​ The cicadas screamed louder each night, their cries echoing through the humid streets like a warning. ​ Jed Teran felt it in his bones—the restless energy, the gnawing sense that something was about to break. The sunsets seemed too vivid, too perfect, as if the world was trying to distract him from the unease that had s...