The drive to the Vancourt estate felt like I was heading straight into the belly of some unseen storm.
Kaius was unusually quiet, staring out of the window with that look on his face—the one I hadn't seen in years, the one that reminded me of Sage's darker moods. It wasn't just that he was silent; it was the way he seemed to shrink into himself, his body language closed off, as if he could feel something I couldn't. Something... wrong.
Amari, on the other hand, was bouncing in her seat, oblivious to the tension in the air. At eight, she still had that wide-eyed optimism, the belief that everything would work out, that the world was full of wonders, not horrors. She kept pointing out the sheep grazing in the fields as we passed, her voice high and bright, like a songbird trying to fill a void that was growing wider between us.
I tried to smile, but it felt like the grin was frozen on my face, a mask for the nerves creeping up my spine. The trees around us grew thicker as we drove deeper into the countryside, their branches twisted like gnarled fingers reaching out to grab us, and soon, a dense fog rolled in, thick and suffocating. I could barely see a few feet in front of the car.
I didn't know what I expected when we arrived at the Vancourt estate. But whatever it was, it wasn't this.
The mansion appeared out of nowhere, looming like some ancient, forgotten relic. It looked like something from a different time, the stone walls covered in ivy, the windows dark and unwelcoming. Even the sky above seemed to press down on it, as if the house were at the mercy of some great force, begging to be left alone. My heart skipped a beat when I saw it. This wasn't just a house; it was a prison.
I parked the car in front of the grand entrance, its heavy wooden doors towering over us. The air was thick with the scent of wet earth and something... older. I couldn't put my finger on it, but I could feel it in my chest, a weight that was pulling me down, down into something deep and cold.
Before I could open the car door, a man appeared out of the fog.
He was tall, broad-shouldered, with a jaw that could cut glass and a stare that felt like it could pierce right through you. His eyes were dark, almost black, and they glinted with a coldness that made the fog around us seem warm in comparison. His presence was overwhelming, as though he was not just standing there, but commanding the space.
"Daxton Vancourt," he said, his voice low and gravelly, like it had been dipped in ice. "Ryker's waiting."
I stood frozen for a moment, trying to collect my thoughts. I knew who Daxton was, of course. Everyone did. He was Ryker Vancourt's right-hand man, the enforcer, the one who kept everyone in line. And now here he was, standing in front of us like an immovable wall.
He didn't smile. Didn't even acknowledge the kids. His focus was entirely on me.
"Come inside," he said, his words sharp, like they weren't meant to be questioned. "The master doesn't like to be kept waiting."
I wanted to protest. To ask what this was all about, why we were being treated like we were intruders. But something in Daxton's eyes told me it wasn't a good idea. So, I did what I had to do—I grabbed Amari's hand and nodded for Kaius to follow me.
Kaius didn't move at first. He stayed in the car, his eyes wide, his face pale. It was almost like he was fighting something inside himself. But after a moment, he followed, though he walked with that strange, stiff posture, like he wasn't fully present, like he was somewhere else entirely.
Daxton led us through the doors without another word. I couldn't shake the feeling that we were being watched. It wasn't just the house or Daxton—it was something else, something... lurking in the walls, in the shadows. It felt like a thousand eyes were on us, studying us, waiting.
The inside of the mansion was just as oppressive as the outside. The grand foyer stretched out before us, its high ceilings echoing with every step we took. The floors were made of dark marble that gleamed under the low light, and the walls were lined with portraits of people I didn't recognize—ancestors, no doubt. Each one looked like they were staring straight through me, judging me, daring me to question my place here.
We were ushered through long hallways, the air thick with dust and the faint smell of something decayed. It felt like the house had been frozen in time, like nothing had changed in decades, maybe even centuries. I couldn't help but feel like an intruder, like I wasn't supposed to be here. The longer we stayed, the more I felt the walls closing in around me.
Eventually, Daxton stopped in front of a set of double doors, ornate and imposing. Without knocking, he pushed them open and stepped aside.
Inside, Ryker Vancourt was waiting.
He sat at the head of a long, dark wooden table, his presence filling the room like an overwhelming force. His face was as cold as ever, his features sharp, his eyes calculating. He looked exactly how I remembered him—untouchable, larger than life. He didn't rise when we entered, but the weight of his gaze was enough to make me feel like I was standing before some great judge.
"Jemima," Ryker said, his voice smooth and dangerous, like silk wrapped around steel. "It's been a long time."
I swallowed hard, but the words caught in my throat. There was nothing welcoming in his tone, no sign of sympathy or remorse. He was as distant, as ruthless, as I remembered.
"We've been expecting you," he continued, his eyes shifting to Kaius and Amari. "I trust your journey was... comfortable?"
I didn't answer. What could I say? The journey was anything but comfortable. But Ryker didn't seem to care. He leaned back in his chair, studying us as if we were nothing more than pieces on a chessboard.
I was ready for whatever was coming. I had to be. For Kaius and Amari.
But as I stood there, facing Ryker's piercing gaze, I couldn't shake the feeling that this was only the beginning. Whatever lay ahead, it wasn't going to be easy. And I wasn't sure we were ready for it.
The fog outside wasn't the only thing that had swallowed us whole. The Vancourt estate had its own darkness, and it was already wrapping its fingers around us.