MIRA

The mansion feels wrong tonight. It's subtle at first, a shift in the air, and a prickle at the back of my neck. The hallway seems to stretch longer than it should as I walk toward the bedroom. Nothing dramatic or obvious, but I still feel watched.

"You're overworking again," Jackson says gently as he loosens his tie, trying to coax me toward bed.

Maybe he's right, maybe it is the stress, the numerous updates to the press, the shadows, or the rose left on my pillow. But any normal person ...