The summer sun was bright enough to make everything look harmless.

That was the first lie.

Lily Gomez stood at the edge of Black Pine Forest with her backpack slung over one shoulder, dark hair tied into a loose ponytail, and excitement sparking in her eyes like she was about to step into the best adventure of her life. Behind her, the forest stretched endlessly, a sea of towering black pines with trunks so tall and close together that the deeper parts looked almost night-dark even under daylight.

A rusty wooden sign leaned sideways near the trailhead.

BLACK PINE FOREST ENTER AT YOUR OWN RISK

The bottom half of the sign had rotted away.

“Wow,” Adam said, stepping up beside Lily and adjusting his cap. “That sign is super comforting. Really makes me feel alive.”

Lily grinned. “Scared already?”

Adam pressed a hand to his chest. “Please. I’m brave, gorgeous, and deeply committed to survival.”

Clara rolled her eyes and brushed a strand of highlighted hair behind her ear. “You forgot dramatic.”

“That too,” Adam said with a wink.

Roy laughed and wrapped an arm around Clara’s shoulders, pulling her close. “Don’t worry, babe. If anything attacks us, I’ll throw Adam at it first.”

“Excuse me?” Adam gasped. “I flirt with people and this is how I’m treated?”

“You flirt with furniture too,” Leona said dryly from the back, carrying two bags because apparently nobody else packed like a sane person.

Jack, quiet as usual, reached over and took one of the heavier bags from her before she could protest. “Here.”

Leona blinked. “Thanks.”

Jack only nodded.

Lily looked back at the group with a laugh. This was exactly what she had wanted: one last wild summer memory before school swallowed them whole again. A camping trip with her closest friends, deep in a forest far enough from the city to feel like another world.

Fresh air. Adventure. No parents. No homework. No rules.

Perfect.

“Well?” she said, turning and walking backward toward the trail. “Are we doing this or not?”

Jack watched her too carefully for someone trying not to be obvious.

Adam noticed, because Adam noticed everything. He smirked but said nothing.

“Lead the way, fearless captain,” Clara said.

And so they entered the forest.

At first it was everything Lily had imagined. Sunlight spilled through the branches in thin golden beams. The path was narrow but manageable, covered in old needles and roots that twisted above the soil like sleeping snakes. The air smelled sharp and earthy, mixed with pine resin and damp moss. Somewhere in the distance, water dripped in a slow, steady rhythm.

The group talked as they walked, their voices filling the spaces between the trees.

Clara and Roy bickered over directions.

“I told you we should’ve downloaded the map twice,” Clara said.

“I did download it twice,” Roy replied.

“Then why is there no signal?”

“Because the forest hates us.”

“That’s not a solution, Roy.”

Adam stepped between them with a hand over his heart. “Children, please. Your toxic love is ruining nature.”

Clara laughed despite herself. Roy nudged Adam in the shoulder.

Meanwhile, Lily hopped over roots and low rocks like she was made for places like this. Every now and then she stopped to look around, eyes bright with curiosity.

“This place is huge,” she said. “I love it.”

Jack walked beside her. “You say that now.”

She glanced at him. “Oh? You think I’ll cry and run home?”

He looked at her for a second, then away. “No. I think you’ll go looking for trouble.”

Lily smiled. “And you’ll come after me.”

Jack’s ears turned a little red. “Someone has to.”

Adam, who had drifted close enough to hear, threw an arm over Jack’s shoulder. “Bro, that was almost romantic.”

Jack shoved him off. “Shut up.”

Lily laughed so hard she nearly tripped.

“Careful,” Jack said immediately, grabbing her elbow before she fell.

For a second, neither of them moved.

Then Lily straightened, still smiling, and said, “See? You always catch me.”

Jack let go too fast. “You’re welcome.”

Adam made a fake gagging sound. “I can feel the tension. It’s disgusting.”

Leona muttered, “You flirt with cashiers.”

“They flirt back.”

“They want you to leave.”

The trail narrowed after an hour.

The sunlight thinned.

Then, slowly, the mood changed.

Lily noticed it first.

“Wait,” she said, stopping so suddenly that Clara almost walked into her. “Do you hear that?”

Everyone paused.

Adam frowned. “Hear what?”

Lily looked around. The trees stood silent and unmoving.

“That’s the thing,” she whispered. “I don’t.”

No birds.

No insects.

No rustling leaves.

No distant animal calls.

The forest had gone still.

A weird pressure settled over the group, subtle but unmistakable, as if the air had thickened.

Roy forced a laugh. “Okay, that’s creepy.”

Leona turned in a slow circle. “Forests aren’t this quiet.”

Clara took Roy’s hand. “Maybe we should head back and camp closer to the entrance.”

Lily was about to argue when Jack crouched near the path.

“There are footprints,” he said.

They all gathered around.

Pressed into the soft dirt were several marks, like someone had walked there recently. Barefoot.

Clara’s face changed instantly. “Nope.”

Adam stared. “Please tell me those are yours, Lily, and you randomly decided shoes are oppressive.”

“They’re not mine.”

The footprints led off the path and between the trees.

Then vanished.

Just vanished.

Roy swallowed. “That’s not normal.”

“Neither are half the things Adam says,” Leona replied, though even she sounded tense.

Lily forced a smile. “It’s probably some local hiker.”

“Barefoot?” Clara asked.

“Free-spirited local hiker.”

Adam leaned closer to the tracks. “I officially hate free spirits.”

Jack stood and looked ahead. His expression had sharpened. “Guys.”

They followed his gaze.

The path they had been on was no longer just a path.

It widened suddenly, unnaturally, as though the forest itself had opened. Thick roots curled away from a long hidden road of cracked stone half-buried under moss and dirt. It stretched forward into the darker part of the woods, straight and deliberate, like it had been waiting for them.

Lily’s pulse kicked.

“That wasn’t here before,” Clara whispered.

“Yes, it was,” Roy said automatically, but his voice lacked conviction.

“No,” Leona said. “It wasn’t.”

Adam looked at Lily. “Please tell me you’re not thinking what I think you’re thinking.”

Lily’s eyes gleamed.

“Oh no,” he said. “She is.”

Jack sighed quietly, already defeated.

“We follow it,” Lily said.

Clara stared at her. “Lily—”

“There could be something amazing at the end.”

“There could be a murderer at the end,” Clara snapped.

“Or a cabin,” Lily said. “Or ruins. Or something old.”

Adam pointed at her. “That right there? That’s exactly how people die in scary stories.”

Lily spread her arms. “Relax. We’re six people. It’s daytime. We’ll look for a few minutes, and if it’s weird, we leave.”

Leona narrowed her eyes. “It’s already weird.”

Roy looked down the road, then at Clara. “We stay together. Nobody wanders off.”

Jack didn’t like it. That much was obvious from his face. But when Lily started forward, he moved with her anyway.

Of course he did.

The hidden stone road led them deeper into Black Pine.

The trees grew taller.

The air grew colder.

And after ten more minutes, they saw it.

At first it was only a shape between the trunks.

Then it became a roofline.

Then black windows.

Then a full house—no, not a house.

A mansion.

Ancient. Massive. Silent.

It stood in the middle of the forest as if it had grown there from shadow and wood and time itself. Vines crawled over its gray walls. The windows were tall and dark. Parts of the porch had collapsed, but the front door remained standing, enormous and closed. A dead fountain sat in the front yard, choked by weeds.

No map had marked this place.

No one had mentioned it.

And yet there it was.

Waiting.

Clara’s fingers tightened around Roy’s hand.

Adam spoke first, but for once his voice held no joke.

“Tell me,” he said softly, “why it feels like that house already knows we’re here.”

Nobody answered.

Because at that exact moment, from the second-floor window—

a curtain moved.

Even though there was no wind.

For a long moment, nobody moved.

The house stood ahead of them in complete silence, huge and crooked beneath the dark pines, like it had been hidden in the forest for a hundred years just waiting for the right idiots to walk into its yard.

Which, Lily thought, was a little rude.

“Well,” Adam said finally, his voice low, “I officially hate this vacation.”

“Same,” Clara whispered.

Roy kept staring up at the second-floor window where the curtain had moved. “Maybe it’s just the wind.”

“There is no wind,” Leona said.

She was right. The trees were still. Not a branch swayed. Not a leaf stirred. Even the vines clinging to the mansion’s walls hung motionless, as if the whole place existed inside its own dead air.

Jack stepped slightly in front of Lily without making it obvious.

She noticed anyway.

“You don’t have to bodyguard me,” she murmured.

“I know.”

“Then why are you doing it?”

His jaw tightened. “Because this place feels wrong.”

Lily looked back at the mansion. He wasn’t wrong. Even she could feel it now—that strange pressure in the air, thick and watchful, like something behind those black windows was holding its breath.

Still, fear and curiosity had always fought each other inside her, and curiosity usually won.

She took a careful step forward.

Clara grabbed her wrist. “Lily, absolutely not.”

Lily turned. “What?”

“What do you mean what?” Clara snapped. “There’s a giant haunted-looking murder house in the middle of nowhere. We should be walking in the opposite direction.”

Adam raised a finger. “For once, I would like the record to show that Clara is the voice of reason.”

Roy gave the house another long look. “We should at least check if someone lives here.”

Leona looked at him like he had personally offended her. “Why?”

“Because if someone does, maybe they know a safer trail back out.”

“That,” Adam said, “is the first smart thing anyone has said in ten minutes.”

Lily folded her arms. “So we are checking it out.”

Clara stared at her. “You heard ‘safe trail’ and translated it into ‘let’s enter the cursed mansion.’”

“Cursed is a strong word.”

“The curtain moved by itself!”

Adam pointed dramatically at the house. “And it looks like it eats children.”

Roy snorted. “You’re twenty percent joke and eighty percent panic.”

“I’m one hundred percent right.”

Jack crouched near the edge of the overgrown yard, studying the ground. “There’s an old path here.”

The others moved closer. Beneath the weeds and moss, a curved stone walkway led from the road to the porch. Cracks split it from end to end, and grass shoved through the gaps, but the path was real.

Leona scanned the front yard. “No tire marks. No fresh shoe prints.”

“Which means?” Clara asked.

“It means either nobody comes here,” Leona said, “or whoever does doesn’t come the normal way.”

Clara looked ready to pass out. “Great. Amazing. Fantastic.”

Lily’s eyes drifted across the mansion again, catching on details she hadn’t noticed before. The dead fountain in the center of the yard had once been shaped like an angel, but its head had broken off and lay sideways in the weeds. Iron fencing circled the property, rusted through in places, bent outward as if something had climbed over it years ago. One shutter hung from a single hinge. The porch roof sagged low over a row of support columns wrapped in dead vines.

And above the front door, carved into the weathered wood beam, were two faded words.

Wren House.

“Wren House,” Lily read softly.

Adam followed her gaze. “That sounds fake. Like the setting of a movie where everyone dies.”

“Please stop saying that,” Clara muttered.

But Lily was already moving again, drawn toward the gate.

Jack caught up instantly. “Lily.”

She glanced over. “We’re just looking.”

“Looking becomes entering with you.”

“That is hurtful and accurate.”

Despite himself, one corner of Jack’s mouth twitched.

Adam saw it and groaned. “Oh, great. Even now you two are doing your weird little almost-flirting thing.”

Lily laughed. “Almost-flirting?”

Jack’s ears turned pink again. “Adam.”

Adam held up both hands. “Hey, I’m just observing the vibes.”

“There are no vibes,” Jack said.

“Tragic. I felt them in my soul.”

Roy pushed open the broken iron gate with a long squeal of metal that made all of them flinch. “Let’s make this quick.”

The yard felt colder than the forest.

That was the first thing Lily noticed as they crossed through the gate. The temperature seemed to drop all at once, enough to raise goosebumps along her arms. The second thing was the smell.

Not rot, exactly.

Not mold.

Something older.

Wet wood, dust, dead flowers, and the faint sour scent of water that had sat too long in the dark.

Clara pressed closer to Roy. “I hate this.”

Roy squeezed her hand. “Stay close to me.”

Adam put a hand over his heart. “And what about me? Who stays close to me?”

Leona didn’t look at him. “Your ego.”

He gasped. “That was mean. Weirdly attractive, but mean.”

Leona rolled her eyes and stepped onto the porch.

It groaned under her weight.

Everyone froze.

The old boards let out another long creak, but held.

“Nope,” Clara said at once. “That sound alone is enough. We tried. We can leave.”

Lily climbed the steps after Leona, carefully avoiding a split board. “You’re being dramatic.”

Clara pointed at the front door. “That door has seen things.”

She wasn’t wrong.

Up close, the mansion looked even older. The double front doors were made of dark wood, swollen with age, carved with twisting patterns of vines and roses. One brass knocker hung in the shape of a woman’s hand. The metal had gone green in places, but the fingers were polished strangely bright, as if other hands had touched them over and over.

Lily reached for it.

Jack caught her wrist.

She looked down at his hand around hers. Warm, steady, protective.

Then up at his face.

“What?” she asked quietly.

His eyes stayed on the knocker. “Don’t touch that.”

Something in his tone made her pause. “Why?”

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “I just really don’t think you should.”

For one weird second, Lily got the feeling he wasn’t just being cautious. It was almost like the sight of the polished brass had triggered something instinctive in him—something deeper than fear.

Adam leaned in. “I vote we let the haunted hand rest in peace.”

Roy tested the door handle instead.

It turned.

Every head snapped toward him.

“It’s open?” Clara said.

Roy pushed slowly.

The door moved inward with a low dragging sound, exhaling a breath of stale darkness from inside the house.

Nobody spoke.

The entry hall beyond was dim, shadowed, and much larger than Lily expected. Dust floated in the air where pale light reached through tall dirty windows. A staircase curved upward at the far end, splitting into two sides halfway like something out of an old rich-people nightmare. Torn wallpaper peeled from the walls. Portraits hung crooked in tarnished frames. A chandelier drooped overhead, thick with webs.

And right in the middle of the floor, beneath the chandelier, stood a small round table.

On it sat a vase full of dead flowers.

Clara whispered, “Why are there flowers?”

No one had an answer.

Lily stepped across the threshold before the others could stop her.

The air inside wrapped around her like cold cloth.

Her sneakers left marks in the dust.

She turned slowly, trying to take everything in. “Okay,” she breathed. “This is insane.”

Jack followed her in with visible reluctance. Then Leona. Then Roy, who pulled Clara with him after a second of hesitation. Adam came last, muttering something about terrible decisions and friendship.

The door swung a little behind them, groaning on its hinges.

Inside, the silence felt different than it had outside. It wasn’t empty silence. It was crowded silence. The kind that made it feel like the house was listening.

Leona walked over to one of the portraits on the wall. “These are old.”

The painting showed a woman seated in a high-backed chair, dressed in dark green silk. Her face was pale and severe, her hands folded neatly in her lap. Her eyes, painted a flat gray-blue, seemed fixed directly on the hall.

“That’s comforting,” Adam said. “She looks like she poisoned husbands for fun.”

Roy moved to another portrait. “There’s more of them.”

A row of family paintings stretched along the walls: men in black coats, women in stiff dresses, children with solemn expressions and too-serious eyes. Every frame was coated in dust except one.

Lily noticed it immediately.

“Guys,” she said.

They turned.

The clean frame held a portrait of a little girl, maybe eight or nine years old, wearing a white dress with a blue ribbon at the waist. She had long dark hair, pale skin, and large watchful eyes.

Eyes that looked strangely familiar.

Lily stepped closer before she even realized she was moving.

The others watched her.

“What is it?” Jack asked.

Lily frowned. “It’s weird.”

Adam came up beside her, then blinked. “Okay, wow.”

Clara looked between them. “What?”

Adam pointed at the painting, then at Lily. “That kid kinda looks like her.”

The words dropped heavily into the hall.

Clara let out a nervous laugh. “No she doesn’t.”

But her voice sounded unsure.

Roy squinted. “...A little.”

Jack said nothing.

Lily’s stomach tightened. It was stupid. It was just a painted girl in an old frame. But there was something in the shape of the face, the eyes, even the mouth—something close enough to make her skin prickle.

Leona stepped in, studying the plaque beneath the portrait.

“What does it say?” Lily asked.

Leona brushed off the dust with her sleeve. Her face changed.

“Leona?” Clara said.

Leona looked up slowly.

“It says,” she answered, “‘Lilith Wren. Born 1917. Died 1926.’”

Nobody breathed.

Adam forced a laugh that came out thin and wrong. “Cool. Cool, cool, cool. So the dead Victorian child has Lily’s face. Love that.”

“It’s not Victorian, idiot,” Clara muttered automatically, though she sounded shaken.

Lily could not stop staring at the portrait.

Lilith.

The name felt uncomfortably close to her own.

Jack moved beside her, his shoulder almost touching hers. “Let’s go.”

She tore her eyes away. “What?”

“We’ve seen enough.”

Roy looked toward the staircase. “Maybe not.”

Leona turned sharply. “Are you serious?”

“If there’s another exit, supplies, or signs of someone living here, we should know.”

Clara stared at him. “Roy.”

“What? We came all this way.”

“Why are you suddenly so interested?” Leona asked.

Roy frowned. “I’m just being practical.”

Adam crossed his arms. “That’s suspiciously mature of you.”

“Shut up.”

For a brief second the friends fell into bickering again, and the normality of it almost helped. Almost.

Clara and Roy started arguing under their breath. Adam added unhelpful commentary. Leona told all of them to lower their voices. Jack stayed near Lily, quiet but tense.

And then, from somewhere deeper inside the mansion—

a piano note rang out.

One single note.

Soft.

Clear.

Beautiful.

Everyone froze.

The sound lingered in the air like a held breath.

Clara gripped Roy’s arm so hard he winced. “Tell me that was your phone.”

“My phone does not sound like a ghost pianist.”

No one laughed.

Another note played.

Then another.

A slow, uneven melody drifted through the house from somewhere beyond the hall, from some room they could not yet see. It wasn’t loud. It was almost delicate. But there was something horribly wrong about it, like the person playing had learned music a very long time ago and never stopped.

Lily felt her heartbeat in her throat.

Adam whispered, “Okay. Nope. That is enough culture for one day.”

Leona looked toward the darkness beyond the staircase. “There’s someone in this house.”

Jack’s expression hardened. “Then we leave. Now.”

Lily should have agreed.

She knew she should have.

But the melody reached her again, thin and sad and strange, winding through the dead silence like a thread being pulled.

And before anyone could stop her, she heard herself say, almost in a whisper—

“I want to see who’s playing.”

Jack closed his eyes briefly, like he was praying for patience.

Adam looked at the ceiling. “This girl is going to get us murdered.”

Lily turned toward the hallway where the music echoed.

Behind her, the front door slammed shut.

Hard.

The sound exploded through the mansion like a gunshot.

Clara screamed.

Everyone spun around.

The doors were closed.

Not swinging.

Not drifting.

Closed.

And from the other side came the sudden sharp click of a lock turning by itself.

Nobody moved.

Nobody spoke.

Then the piano stopped.

And in the silence that followed, a voice from upstairs whispered:

“Welcome back, Lily.”

The whisper hung in the air like smoke—soft, almost melodic, yet sharp enough to cut through the tension that had instantly frozen the group in the dim entry hall.

Lily’s heart slammed against her ribs. She spun, looking toward the staircase, but there was nothing—no one. Only shadows that stretched like fingers across the cracked wallpaper.

“Did you hear that?” Clara gasped, clinging tightly to Roy.

Adam straightened and tried to look casual. “Yeah… sure. Totally heard… maybe a polite ghost welcoming us.”

Leona’s eyes narrowed. “Ghosts don’t have etiquette. Whoever said that… it’s still here.”

Jack stayed silent, his gaze locked on the staircase. Lily noticed the tightness in his jaw, the way he was poised, protective, ready to act, but also hesitant.

“I… I think we should go upstairs,” Lily said before anyone could stop her. “See who’s talking.”

Jack’s hand shot out and grabbed her shoulder. “No. Absolutely not. Not yet.”

She looked at him, exasperated. “You’re saying we just stand here while someone—or something—talks to us?”

Adam muttered from behind, “I volunteer as tribute… oh wait, no, I don’t.”

Clara rolled her eyes. “This is insane. Lily, seriously—why do you insist on being the heroine in every horror story?”

Lily smirked despite the fear crawling up her spine. “Because someone has to be.”

Leona crossed her arms, her eyes scanning the room. “Fine. But if anything tries to trap us here, we run. No heroics.”

The group moved cautiously toward the grand staircase. Every step groaned under their weight. Dust rose in tiny clouds from the cracks in the worn wooden boards. The air smelled older now—like dried flowers, forgotten wood, and something faintly metallic.

Halfway up the stairs, Lily noticed a door on the landing. It was small, almost hidden behind a hanging tapestry. Its wood was dark, and the brass knob was tarnished, though there was a strange sheen—as if it had been polished recently.

Jack stiffened. “Don’t touch that.”

“Of course,” Lily said, pretending to obey, though her fingers itched.

Adam leaned over to her. “If you open it, I’m blaming you for whatever happens next.”

Lily raised a brow. “If something happens, I’m blaming you for whining.”

Roy moved closer to Clara, whispering, “Maybe we should just leave.”

“No. Not yet,” Clara said firmly. Her voice shook slightly, but there was determination behind it. “We need to know what’s in this house before we decide anything.”

They reached the top of the staircase. The hall was lined with portraits, each one of a stern-looking man or woman in formal attire. Dust and cobwebs clung to the edges of the frames, and most of the faces seemed to stare directly at anyone walking past.

Lily paused in front of one painting. A young boy with dark hair and pale skin sat on a chair, staring straight ahead. Something about his eyes made her shiver.

“Why do these people all look… sad?” she murmured.

Adam tilted his head. “Because no one in 1920s fashion smiled. That’s the rule.”

“Not helping,” Leona muttered.

Jack moved closer to Lily, silently studying her expression. “Stay focused,” he whispered.

Another door caught Lily’s eye. It was larger than the first, double-leafed, with carvings of twisting vines and flowers. Unlike the rest, the wood looked relatively clean—almost cared-for.

Adam reached for the handle. “Maybe it’s the living room? Maybe there’s snacks.”

Clara whacked his hand. “Adam! Stop it!”

Jack’s grip on Lily’s wrist tightened. “Nothing about this is normal. Don’t.”

The handle turned easily under Adam’s finger. The doors creaked open to reveal a room covered in thick dust. Faded furniture—sofas, chairs, and a large writing desk—was scattered across the space.

And in the center of the floor lay a large, heavy rug, patterned with flowers, though faded from years of sunlight. Beneath it, Lily noticed a strange shape. A metal ring attached to a wooden trapdoor.

Leona crouched immediately. “What is that?”

Jack’s face grew serious. “A basement?”

“Yes,” Lily whispered, drawn toward it despite the cold prickling sensation crawling over her skin. “We need to see.”

Clara grabbed her arm. “Absolutely not.”

Roy stepped between them. “Let’s take it slow. Check if it’s locked first.”

Jack knelt, feeling the ring. The trapdoor didn’t resist. When he pulled, it gave with a loud groan, swinging open to reveal a black void. A damp, musky scent rose up, thick enough to make them cough.

Adam leaned in. “Oh yeah, that’s a ‘we’ll die’ smell.”

Leona shone her flashlight into the darkness. The basement steps were made of stone, slick with moss and moisture. Faint scratches lined the walls, like claws—or something sharper.

Lily peered over the edge. “We need to go down. There’s… something down there.”

Jack grabbed her hand again. “No. We need a plan. If anything down there knows we’re here, it could…”

Before he could finish, a loud banging echoed from upstairs. Every single head jerked upward. Dust fell from the ceiling.

“Someone’s up there!” Clara whispered, panic rising.

The group spun, expecting to see movement, but the hallway remained empty.

Adam swallowed audibly. “Or… something.”

The piano started again—soft, irregular, wrong notes that made their stomachs twist.

“Okay,” Leona said sharply, “we go together. Nobody splits up. Lily, Jack, Adam, me… Roy, stay with Clara. We move as one.”

Lily nodded, the weight of the moment pressing down on her chest. But as she looked into the basement’s black mouth, curiosity fought against fear.

Jack’s hand lingered on hers, grounding her. “Be careful,” he said, his voice low, almost a whisper.

She gave a small nod, and together, step by step, they descended into the darkness.

The air grew colder with every stair. The smell intensified. The walls pressed closer, as though the basement itself were alive.

And at the very bottom, etched into the stone floor, were six names—carved deep, sharp, and bleeding shadows into the dim light:

Lily Gomez

Clara Montgomery

Adam King

Jack Rivera

Leona Price

Roy Benson

No one spoke.

Lily’s throat tightened. “Those… those are our names.”

A whisper echoed from somewhere above:

“Long ago, you were expected.”

Everyone froze.

Adam whispered, “Yeah… nope. Definitely nope.”

Clara grabbed Roy’s hand tighter. “We need to leave. Now.”

Jack’s eyes met Lily’s. “Not yet. We need to know why.”

And in the shadows, the basement seemed to pulse—alive, waiting, watching.