Zion’s POV
The sound of raised voices filtered through the laughter and chatter downstairs, and I frowned, wondering what was happening.
Zion Jr. had just scurried into his grandfather's study, his small hands still damp from washing off the remnants of our afternoon ball game, and I was supposed to follow him in, to say hi to my father, maybe even talk, but the commotion caught my attention, and I found myself pausing, listening, a frown creasing my forehead.
The voices were coming from upstairs, from my room no less, and a sinking feeling settled in my stomach. I knew that kind of apprehension; it was a warm-up to the something nasty, and I had to find out what was happening.
I took the stairs two at a time, and I could feel the urgency pushing me forward, and upward until I got to
