The grand foyer of the Vance Manor felt like a tomb. The air was stagnant, heavy with the scent of lilies and the suffocating silence of a house that had lost its pulse. I stepped through the front door, my suit jacket rumpled and my mind a fractured mosaic of fear and fury. I had driven like a madman from the office, the image of Cyril’s shattered face at the cabin door burned into my retinas.
"Alan! You're back!" Susan hurried toward me from the living room, her face a mask of frantic relief that quickly morphed into something more fragile.
"Is she here?" I barked, not even stopping to acknowledge her. "Is Cyril in her room?"
Susan hesitated, wringing her hands in the fabric of her apron. "She... she was here, Alan. About an hour ago. She came in, looking like a ghost. I tried to talk
