The night air in the Callahan estate was thick with the scent of lavender and secrets. Moonlight pooled in silver puddles across the polished marble floors as Savannah tiptoed past the long, arched windows, her bare feet silent on the stone. The corridor ahead loomed with a stillness too deliberate, like something watching.
She paused before the sealed wing, the one Rhett said was condemned. It hadn't stopped her. Nothing ever did.
"Locked for a reason," she whispered, tracing the old bronze latch. Her fingers trembled slightly, not from fear, but from anticipation. Savannah had always known there was more to this estate than luxury and cold beauty. There were stories in the shadows.
The lock gave way with a creak, and she slipped inside.
The air changed instantly. Dust clung to her skin, and the temperature dropped as though the wing remembered its dead. Broken chandeliers hung like skeletal remains above her. Portraits lined the walls, their faces faded, their eyes scraped out.
