The house never slept.

It loomed over them.

Even resting, it gasped like a beast, cold and warm in the wrong spots. Creaking at joints. Glaring at them.

Leya no longer jumped at its creaks.

She was too tired to.

Her mop had been wet, pale water in the bucket she had carried down the marble corridor. Her back ached. Her knees pounded. The insidious burn of ammonia stuck to her forearms like something that she couldn't shake off.

She had washed the baseboards. Sconces covered in ...