I lay awake, listening. No matter how thick the quilt, the chill crept in.
Mrs. Hawthorne slept in the guest room down the corridor, her breath steady as the moonlight slipping through the broken panes. I envied her peace.
But I knew peace was fleeting here.
The estate pulsed with old energy. My family had called this place Hollow-haven for generations, though no one had lived in it.
A noise.
Not the wind.
I sat upright. My heartbeat was already ahead of me, racing. There it was again—soft, deliberate, like a shoe scuffing wood. Someone… or something, was inside.
I slid out of bed, barefoot and silent. The floor felt colder than stone. My powers stirred, prickling under my skin. I could call fire if I needed it, but something told me to listen first.
Down the hallway.
Another crea
