The atmosphere within Mourning Manor had shifted from the suffocating tension of the recent internal betrayal to something far more primal and external. Gillian stood in the center of the front yard, the cold night air biting at his skin, which was still recovering from the draining events of the previous day. He had not slept in earnest since his collapse in the study, his mind unable to detach from the lingering sensation of the mysterious touch that had pulled him from the abyss of his own nightmares. Yet, there was no time to ponder the identity of his midnight visitor. The air itself tasted of ozone and impending violence.
He scanned the perimeter of the manor, his senses heightened to an unnatural degree. The birds had stopped their nocturnal calling hours ago, and the very wind se
