She asked George
Martha couldn’t take it anymore. “George, what is it? Why does it feel so… wrong?” she asked, her voice filled with dread and curiosity. George looked at her briefly, his jaw tightening. “I don’t know,” he replied quietly, his tone measured. “All I know is, it’s not something we’ve seen before—and that makes it dangerous. We just need to contain it first.”
Martha nodded, though fear still gripped her tightly. “Okay,” she said softly, “but when this is over, I need to know what’s been living in my sink.” Her words hung heavy in the air. George met her eyes for just a second, then turned back toward the box. “You’ll get your answer,” he said calmly, “but only once it’s secure.”
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