The silence of the Reed Estate didn't just feel wrong—it felt like a premeditated insult.
Usually, even in the dead of night, the house had a heartbeat. You could hear the faint hum of the climate control, the click of the wine cellar's cooling unit, or the distant, rhythmic pacing of the perimeter guards on the gravel outside. But tonight, the blackout had turned the mansion into a sensory deprivation chamber. I stood in the main security hub, my eyes straining against the darkness. The monitors, usually a mosaic of blue and green light showing every inch of the property, were nothing but black glass rectangles reflecting my own grim expression.
