The Coffin Of Andy And Leyley <CONFIRMED - SECRETS>

And that was the problem. He loved her like a scab he couldn't stop picking.

Behind them, the apartment sat hollow and patient, waiting for new ghosts.

Andy sat on the floor of their shared room, knees pulled to his chest, watching his sister sleep. She was curled on the stained mattress, one hand clutching a butter knife—her "just in case" for the demon in the vents. Her hair was a rat's nest. Her lips were chapped. She was the most terrifying thing he had ever loved. the coffin of andy and leyley

Leyley set the knife down. For once, she didn't have a clever, cutting remark. She just took his hand and pressed it flat against her own chest, over her heart. It was beating too fast.

"If we go out there," she said, "and it's just more of the same—more people who want to put us in boxes—promise me something." And that was the problem

"I saw Mom today," he said quietly.

"Whatever we have to."

"Anything."

"Promise you'll help me dig."