The house was vibrating.
Not shaking. Vibrating.
It felt like standing inside a giant, purring cat made of rotting timber and bad memories. Dust fell from the ceiling in a steady, rhythmic drizzle. Thump-thump. Thump-thump. The heartbeat of a structure that knew it was about to die.
Victor Corvinus stood in the foyer, watching the front door. Or rather, watching the space where the front door used to be. Now, it was just a jagged hole framing the apocalypse outside.
A burning parchment was nailed to the doorframe. The green flames curled around the edges, eating the wood with a wet, chewing sound.
"Class A Eviction," Victor muttered. He rubbed his temples. The caffeine withdrawal was kicking in, a dull throb behind his left eye. "Twenty-four hours. Or until the structure collapses fro
