The storm rolled in at dusk, clouds stacked heavy against the horizon until the sky turned the color of iron. By the time the rain began, steady and relentless, the mansion had fallen into a hush, as though the walls themselves were holding their breath.
Sierra sat on the edge of her bed, staring at the window as droplets streaked down the glass. The house felt different in the storm, each creak of the beams louder, each echo down the corridor stretched thin. She couldn’t shake the tension prickling along her skin. Something was coming. She could feel it.
The knock came at precisely eight o’clock.
“Sierra?” Her mother’s voice floated through the wood, smooth as velvet, sharp as a blade. “Join us in the drawing room.”
Her heart leapt into her throat. She rose, smoothing the folds of her
