The wind howled, cutting through the overgrown gardens like a predator hunting in the night. Ethan Drake stood motionless, the long coat framing his lean figure swaying slightly in the gusts. His gray eyes scanned the mansion's façade, each crack in the brick and twist of ivy telling a silent story of neglect and secrets. The spires clawed at the gray sky, defiant yet decayed, a stark silhouette against the approaching night.
Gwen Alderidge shifted uneasily at his side, her green eyes darting between the mansion and the man she'd hired. She drew her coat tighter around her, though the chill in the air wasn't her only discomfort.
"Do payments in parts," Ethan said, his tone even, like he was reciting a well-worn script.
Her brows knit. "And why exactly is that?"
His gaze didn't waver. "Transparency. You pay as the work progresses, when specific goals are achieved. Keeps you in control. No guessing. No empty promises."
Control. She bristled at the word, as if it mocked her. Gwen Alderidge wasn't in control of anything—her life, her family's name, and certainly not this moment. She exhaled sharply.
"Thirty percent upfront," she said, her voice rising with frustration. "Thirty thousand dollars. Non-refundable. Why so expensive?"
Ethan tilted his head slightly, as if pondering her question with the weight it deserved. "This isn't a missing wallet or a cheating spouse. You're asking me to dig into something dangerous. People with power, resources, and no issue making problems like me disappear. High risk means high cost."
Her lips pressed into a thin line. She wanted to argue, to push back against the cool logic in his voice, but the truth of it wrapped around her like the wind, cold and undeniable.
"And the retainer?" she asked, narrowing her eyes. "Why non-refundable?"
He didn't flinch, didn't blink. His lips twitched in what might have been the ghost of a smile. "Because once I commit, I'm all in. Time, resources—it's already spent the moment you hire me. Pull out later, you're not just wasting my time. You're wasting your chance at the truth."
The words struck deeper than she wanted to admit. Gwen looked away, toward the mansion. It loomed in the distance, a hulking shadow filled with the echoes of her grandfather's secrets. The thought of turning back now felt as impossible as stepping forward.
"I'll give you time to think," Ethan said softly, his voice almost swallowed by the wind.
He turned toward his car, the gravel crunching under his boots. Gwen didn't call out, didn't stop him. She stood rooted to the spot, her thoughts a chaotic tangle of fear, guilt, and determination.
"Thirty thousand dollars," she muttered to herself, the weight of it pressing against her chest like a physical force.
"High risk means high cost," Ethan called over his shoulder, climbing into his car without looking back. The engine roared to life, a sharp mechanical sound that felt out of place against the mansion's heavy silence.
Gwen watched the taillights disappear down the long, cobblestone driveway. Alone now, she turned back to the mansion. The spires seemed to lean toward her, pulling her in like some twisted invitation.
She stepped forward, each crunch of her boots on the stone path echoing in the stillness. The mansion's broken windows stared down at her like empty eyes, and the faint groan of the wind through its rafters sounded almost human.
Her hand hovered over the heavy iron handle of the door. A single breath escaped her lips, visible in the icy air. "What am I doing?" she whispered, but the question was swallowed by the oppressive silence.
The door creaked open with a sound that raised the hair on her arms. Inside, the air was thick with dust and disuse, the smell of old wood and forgotten years clawing at her senses. The grand piano sat in the corner of the parlor, its presence commanding even in its decay. The sheet music scattered across the floor seemed less like clutter and more like breadcrumbs leading into a labyrinth.
Her boots sank slightly into the threadbare carpet as she crossed the room. Her hand brushed the piano's keys, the chipped surface rough under her fingers. The sound they produced was faint, hollow, a ghost of what it once was.
"What did you leave behind, Grandfather?" she murmured, her voice trembling in the quiet.
A creak from upstairs froze her hand mid-air. It was faint, almost imperceptible, but unmistakable. Someone—or something—was moving in the house.
Her pulse quickened, the mansion's oppressive weight closing in around her. She turned slowly, her eyes scanning the darkened corners of the room. The house felt alive now, its silence not empty but watchful, as though it was waiting to see what she would do next.
And for the first time, Gwen Alderidge wondered if some truths were better left buried.