The corridor was a gauntlet of ambient intent. Every step was a fight against the very air, which seemed to thicken with the pressure of the mansion’s history. My legs felt like they were cast in lead, my nerves firing in erratic, stinging bursts that made the stone beneath me pulse with a sickening rhythm. I took a ragged, shaky breath, sucking up every remaining scrap of energy I had, the bile of the alchemical stasis rising to the back of my throat. I fought it down, swallowing the sickness and the exhaustion together, and hauled myself off the cot.
The voices in my head were a chaotic, screaming mess, competing for dominance, but the air outside was worse. The hall wasn't just a physical space; it was a sounding board for their malice. Every word Adela and my father shouted echoed aga
