The hands of the wall clock ticked slowly. The sound echoed in the silence, like the countdown of a time bomb.
The atmosphere inside Oakhaven tonight was fundamentally different.
After the construction crew departed that evening, the airy Victorian wooden house had been completely transformed into an impenetrable fortress.
Every single window was sealed dead with heavy wrought-iron bars. The thick, red velvet curtains were drawn completely shut, refusing to let even a sliver of moonlight or a prying eye slip through.
Zen lounged on the long wooden sofa facing the fireplace.
The fire blazing at his feet. He wore a black turtleneck and tailored slacks, relaxed and regal like a king admiring a private kingdom no one would ever dare invade. The wood popped and crackled softly... crackle... radiating a warmth that completely contradicted the glacial dread freezing my heart.
