Whispers of the Unknown

The scream sliced through the morning air like a shard of glass, sharp and jagged, reverberating off the Holloway mansion's stone walls. Elara's heart jolted, her fingers tightening around Vincent's arm as the faint tremor from moments ago pulsed again beneath her feet—a ripple of something alive, something *wrong*. Dust sifted from the ceiling, catching the sunlight in lazy, golden motes, and the chandelier above the dining room swayed with a faint, ominous creak. Vincent was already moving, his body coiled like a spring, his dark eyes darting to the window where Everwood's skyline loomed beyond the manicured grounds.

"What the hell is happening?" he growled, his voice a low rumble that cut through the rising panic in Elara's chest. He crossed to the window in three long strides, peering out at the city below, his broad shoulders tense beneath the crisp lines of his suit.