The storm rolled in after midnight, not with thunderous fanfare but with a slow, stalking menace—like a beast circling its prey. Elara stood barefoot at her window, the hem of her robe grazing the cold marble floor, her arms wrapped tightly around herself. Rain smeared the glass in frantic, crooked strokes, distorting the view beyond until the cliffs blurred into ghosts and the sea writhed like something alive.

The wind howled.

So did the house.

Each groan of the beams felt personal ...