Hybrid..?

Dante had been halfway home from school when he noticed the house again. It sat at the edge of the street like it always had—windows dark, porch sagging, paint peeling in long strips—but this time, something about it pulled at him. Maybe it was the way the afternoon light caught on the broken glass, or maybe it was just that tired, restless feeling that followed him most days. Either way, he slowed, then stopped, backpack strap tight in his hand. “Just a quick look,” he told himself. The front door creaked open with barely any effort, like the house had been waiting. Inside, the air was cooler and thick with dust. The living room looked abandoned in the way only forgotten places did: a couch slumped in on itself, a chair tipped over, old curtains stirring slightly even though there was no breeze. His footsteps sounded too loud, every movement echoing off the walls. Then he saw it. Small, dark drops marked the floor near the doorway. Dante stopped short, his stomach tightening. At first he thought it might be paint or rust, but the trail continued—uneven, spaced like someone had been walking, or maybe stumbling. It led past the couch, across the warped floorboards, and toward the hallway. The mood of the house shifted instantly. What had felt like harmless curiosity now felt wrong. Heavy. He noticed other things he’d missed before: a cracked picture frame knocked to the floor, deep scratches along the wall near the corner, the faint imprint of a hand on the dusty surface of a table—as if someone had tried to steady themselves. Whoever had been here hadn’t just been exploring. Dante swallowed, his grip tightening on his backpack strap. In a world where hybrids were treated like problems instead of people, he didn’t need much imagination to guess what might have happened. The drops on the floor weren’t just evidence of an accident—they were proof that someone had been hurt, and that no one had bothered to help. The trail disappeared into the hallway’s shadows. Dante hesitated, heart pounding, torn between the urge to turn around and the quiet, heavy feeling that if he walked away now, no one would ever know what happened here.