Brielle’s POV
The knock came like a warning shot again—sharp, cold, final. Fiona stiffened in the hallway, the phone still warm in her hand. Gregory's house was cloaked in a strange kind of stillness, the kind that settled just before the sky broke open.
Gregory had just returned to his room after dinner. He was pale but mobile, moving like every breath cost him something. Fiona had offered tea, but he waved her off with a look that said he didn’t trust anything warm or soothing tonight.
Another knock.
This one slower.
Measured.
Fiona stepped forward and opened the door.
Sean stood quietly on the porch, his hands deep in the pockets of his neat, expensive coat. He looked calm, but something about him felt cold—like a ghost pretending to be a king. The last light of the evening touch
