The night settled over New Haven like a heavy blanket, its stillness only broken by the occasional rustling of wind through the trees. Inside the mansion, the survivors had long since retreated to their rooms, exhausted after a day filled with celebration and the slow burn of worry that still clung to their bones. George, tired from both the emotional toll of Grace's birthday and the work to secure 3rd Street, collapsed into bed, his muscles aching for rest.
But the night wouldn't bring peace.
As George drifted into sleep, shadows crept through the mansion's halls, silent, predatory. Among those shadows was the succubus, her predatory gaze fixed on her next target: George himself. She moved silently, her form shifting between the alluring beauty she wore as a disguise and her true, dark self. Her lips curved into a twisted smile as she approached George's room, her power already swirling in the air around her like a thick fog.
