The afternoon air was so cold that even the sun hanging high in the American sky seemed unable to warm anything. A thin fog blanketed the grounds of the grand mansion, which stood tall but felt cold and empty. When Greyson's car stopped in front of the main door, the engine's sudden silence signaled the stillness that surrounded them.
Greyson got out first, then helped Clara out of the car. The woman looked frail, her body wrapped in a thick coat, but her face bore a weariness that came more from within than from physical exhaustion. Their steps were slow as they walked through the quiet hallway of the mansion. There were no sounds except for their footsteps and the whisper of wind slipping through the cracks of old windows.
