Josephine
I realised something was terribly wrong — not that an actual wild animal on the loose isn’t already bad — the moment we turned into the drive. The mansion, usually so controlled and almost unnervingly calm, like an overpriced wellness retreat where silence is mandatory, had transformed into something that looked as though someone had lifted it straight out of an emergency‑response documentary.
People were everywhere, moving with a kind of urgent coordination that made my pulse quicken. The air buzzed with radio chatter, shouted instructions, and the heavy thud of boots on gravel. I understood “gas leak,” but this was more like “bomb threat” behaviour, a little over the top, I would even say. Then again, both end in kaboom, so what do I know about the correct protocol?
Right at
