We are dead

The bus ride to the retirement home had been uneventful-the low hum of chatter, the occasional burst of laughter, and the rhythmic bumps of the road beneath the tires. Star sat by the window, watching the world blur past, her fingers absentmindedly tapping against her knee. Beside her, Alin leaned in with a smirk.

"You look tense," he teased, nudging her shoulder.

She rolled her eyes. "I'm fine."

From the seat in front of them, Stanley snorted. "She's just nervous because she has to talk to actual people today."

Star shot her brother a glare. "Not everyone enjoys socializing as much as you do, Stanley." Alin chuckled, draping an arm lazily over the back of the seat. "Come on, Star. It's just one day with a bunch of sweet old folks. What's the worst that could happen?" She sighed, resting her forehead against the glass. If only they knew.

The retirement home loomed at the end of the road, a grand but weathered building with ivy creeping up its stone walls. It looked peaceful enough-nurses bustling about, elderly residents chatting on the front porch, the faint scent of flowers drifting in the warm afternoon air. A normal visit. A normal trip. A normal day.

That's what it was supposed to be.