The dim lighting inside the councilman's estate cast long shadows on the walls, flickering in tandem with the weak flames of the candles that lined the room. The team from the Possession Crimes Unit stood on edge, their breath shallow as they surveyed the aftermath of the violent exorcism. But the air was still heavy—too still—and Eamon couldn't shake the unsettling tension tightening in his gut.
Sycamore, the team's leader, stood by the large bay window, his sharp gaze sweeping over the estate grounds. "Something's not right," he muttered, barely loud enough for the others to hear.
Bryan, the team's intel specialist, had been on his communicator, gathering reports from outside. "No reports of additional disturbances," he said, but his voice was tight with doubt. "But I agree. The demon left too easily. It's as if it retreated."
