Mark’s POV

The east wing was always too quiet.

Not the kind of quiet you get when the house is asleep, but the kind that feels like the walls are listening. Even the air seemed to hold still, waiting.

That night, the silence pressed down harder than usual. It wasn’t just in the halls, it was in my chest, in my ears.

Rissa stood beside me near the start of the long corridor, a lantern balanced in her hand. Its light cast a narrow pool over the wainscoting, and beyond that, the dark felt ...