Frey POV
Dad holds my hand tightly as we walk down a dark, creepy hallway. It feels like I’m inside one of those ghost castles from the game with the guy who wears a big M on his hat. The walls are cold and gloomy, flickering shadows creeping along the surfaces. Every step we take echoes off the stone, making the whole place feel alive with whispers and movement. I grip Dad’s hand harder, my small fingers curling tight around his because this place scares me.
Ugly, pale ghosts drift between the walls, their forms twisting in and out of sight. My heart pounds in my chest, and I tug at Dad’s hand, hoping we can leave. He squeezes my hand a bit tighter and speaks in a firm, reassuring voice. “I won’t let them hurt you, my son.”
“This place is so scary, Dad,” I whisper, barely able to stop
