The night was never truly silent. It was filled with the frantic chirping of crickets, the rustle of overgrown ivy against stone. Inside the Vernhardt estate, the air was even heavier. It was a house that had once been filled with the bustling noise of a "Great House," but now it felt hollowed out, as if the very spirit of the place had begun to sour.
Liera stood in the center of her bedroom, her chest heaving. It had been two days since she had seen that terrifying hooded figure in the woods. Two days of watching her father pace the halls like a caged animal, his eyes bloodshot and his temper fraying at the slightest sound. He hadn't spoken to her, hadn't even looked at her, but she could feel his desperation radiating through the walls.
