The morning sun poured through the tall, narrow windows of the mansion, painting the corridors in long, golden streaks that seemed far too bright for the cold stone beneath my boots. I walked flanked by Emily and Mish, the rhythmic click-clack of our movement echoing off the vaulted ceilings. Around us, the house was waking up—the muffled scrape of chairs in the dining room, the rustle of heavy velvet curtains being drawn, the scent of beeswax and old wood. But even bathed in the amber glow of dawn, the hallways carried a persistent chill. It was as if the grandeur of the Stones' wealth was merely a shroud draped over something rotting.
Emily chattered incessantly, her voice a frantic attempt to dissolve the tension that clung to me like frost.
“Poor thing,” she said, reaching out to tu
