In the days following Judith's cataclysmic outburst and Sienna's chilling implications, an unmistakable pall seemed to descend over the Westbrook mansion like a suffocating smog.
Where before the estate's atmosphere had been thick with tense anticipation preceding the family's meltdown, now it felt outright oppressive - as if the very air we breathed carried bitter toxins and paranoia with each intake.
At every darkened hallway and murmured conversation abruptly stifled by my passing presence, I couldn't shake the growing sensation of eyes furtively tracking me from the shadows. Judging my every move and inflection for any perceived weakness or opening to exploit.
After all, according to Sienna I had graduated from scorned outcast to full-blown existential threat against the Westbrook
