The secrets of lockwood manner

The Lockwoods had always felt... off to Seraphina Lockwood.

Not in the obvious way. Not in the haunted-mansion, creaky-floorboards sense. It was quieter than that. Sharper. Like a smile that stayed a second too long or a door that was always locked for "no reason."

Her father's home office was the worst of it.

No one was ever allowed inside. Not the house staff. Not family. Not even Seraphina, and she was a Lockwood by blood, not just by name. The door stayed shut at all times, the handle polished from use but never turned by anyone except him. If she so much as lingered near it, her father's voice would cut through the house, calm but iron-hard.

"Seraphina. Away from there."

He was strict about everything, but that door felt different. Like whatever was behind it wasn't just private. It was dangerous.

And Seraphina wasn't stupid.

She noticed the late-night phone calls. The way her father's mood shifted without warning. The files he carried home and burned instead of throwing away. The way adults lowered their voices when she entered the room.

Something was being hidden. Something big.

And she knew, with a certainty that sat heavy in her chest, that it had everything to do with her father.

She needed answers. Real ones. Not the polished lies the Lockwoods specialized in.

There was only one person she trusted enough to help her find them.

Tom Hendarson. Her best friend. The only person who wasn't impressed by the Lockwood name, the only one who asked questions when things didn't add up.

If anyone could help her open that door, figuratively or literally, it was him.

And once she started digging, Seraphina knew there would be no turning back.

The Lockwoods didn't keep secrets for nothing.