Behind closed doors

The house felt different now.

Not safer exactly… just less hostile.

Damien’s warning to his followers had kept them from lunging at me, but the stares didn’t stop. Wherever I walked, I could feel the weight of eyes on me—curious, cold, disapproving. I kept my head up and moved like I belonged, even though I didn’t feel it yet.

I wandered further than usual that day. The halls stretched on endlessly, a maze of old doors and creaking floorboards. The silence was thick—until it wasn’t.

I stopped mid-step, head turning toward a door down the corridor. Faint, muffled sounds—like a grunt. A shift. The scrape of metal or something solid.

I glanced around quickly. No one in sight.

Without thinking, I moved toward the door, pressing my ear to it. More movement inside.

I eased the door open.

The light inside was dim, a single bulb flickering from the ceiling. The room was small and bare, except for one thing—someone tied to a chair in the middle, blood trailing down his arms and drippin