The dimly lit interior of the old manor. Sunlight fights its way through dusty windows, illuminating a tense tableau. Eleanor kneels beside a bed, her brow furrowed in worry as she changes a bloodied bandage on Michael's chest. Jacob paces restlessly near the window, his gaze constantly flickering to the treeline beyond. Abigael sits stiffly by the fireplace, her face a mask of cold fury.
"How are you feeling, Michael?" Eleanor said, her voice was tight, a flicker of guilt crossing her face.
"Like someone took a swipe at me with a grizzly bear's claw. But I'll live." Micheal spoke, trying to adjust his position, a jolt of pain traveled through his chest, and he groaned.
Eleanor forces a smile, her guilt churning in her gut. Michael's injury was a constant reminder of her failed plan.
