EMMA
The wind rattled the windows, whipping the snow against the panes in uneven sheets. I had just finished inspecting the hall for the morning’s leftover decorations, my fingers still sticky with tinsel glue, when a sound drifted in through the balcony doors. A sound that didn’t belong to the wind or the storm outside.
At first, I thought it was a dog—a lone hound howling somewhere in the forest beyond the estate. But the sound was deeper, more resonant, carrying a hollow, aching quality that made the hairs on my arms rise. I froze, holding my breath, listening. Another howl joined it, echoing like it came from the very bones of the earth.
I stumbled back from the balcony, gripping the railing. My chest beat faster, a tight, uneasy rhythm that had nothing to do with the cold. It wasn’
