The rest of the morning passed in a strange kind of quiet, not uncomfortable but surreal. I kept finding myself drifting from room to room like I was trying to memorize a place I still wasn’t convinced I was supposed to be in. Ray didn’t hover, though I sensed him nearby—somewhere on the same floor, maybe. The house wasn’t just big; it was labyrinthine. Even the hallways felt like they’d been designed to swallow sound.
I walked back toward my room after exploring the terrace a little longer than I intended. The sunlight filtering through the tall windows painted soft gold across the floor, and for a moment I slowed to take it in. Everything about this place felt like a painting—too curated, too serene, too unreal. I was the only messy, human part of it.
When I reached my door and pushed
