"Norine, baby, come here," Rosie said gently, reaching for her daughter's hand.
But Norine, stubborn the way only a four-year-old can be, planted her feet and pointed at the locker again. "Open it! Open it!"
"Sweetheart, it's nothing." Emily stepped forward, trying to physically pull the child back. "It's just old wiring. Boring grown-up stuff."
Norine wriggled free and slapped her palm against the metal door one more time, refusing to move.
Thomas knelt down slowly, his eyes locked on the locker his own father had apparently hidden inside these walls without a single soul knowing.
"Thomas, don't." Emily's voice cracked. "Please, not now. Not like this."
He looked up at her. Something in her face told him everything he needed to know before he even touched the handle. He opened it anyway.
Inside, wrapped in a torn cloth, sat a single photograph. He pulled it out with shaking hands.
It was his father. Lying on the floor of this very hallway, blood pooling beneath him, eyes open, frozen in his final second.