Midnight settled over Oakhaven like a burial shroud, but within the Vesper Estate, time seemed to have stalled entirely. The grand music room was a cathedral of shadows, its high, vaulted ceilings swallowed by a darkness that smelled of centuries-old velvet and decaying parchment. Faded frescoes of fallen angels peeled from the plaster above, their sightless eyes forever fixed on the solitary light source: a single, seven-branched candelabra that cast long, grotesque silhouettes against the polished ebony floors.
Rusty sat at the heart of the room, anchored to the stool of a massive, archaic grand piano. His fingers, long and pallid, moved with a fluidity that bordered on the supernatural, coaxing a melody from the ivory keys that sounded less like music and more like a confession. It was
