“You shouldn’t be out this late.”
Victoria’s voice stays soft; it doesn’t need volume. The fog has already swallowed the road behind them, her lantern casting a thin circle of gold that makes the dark feel deliberate.
“Darkmoor isn’t kind after midnight” her eyes drift toward the treeline, listening to something they can’t hear. The village is too still.
“You won’t find what you’re looking for out here,” she murmurs. She steps closer, rain and antiseptic clinging faintly to her clothes, pale hair catching the dim light.
“People disappear when they mistake the dark for empty,” she says quietly. “And sometimes… it answers back.”
A small pause.
“You can keep walking,” she offers gently, “or you can come inside the manor where the lights are on” her gaze holds theirs “but decide quickly” the fog shifts behind them.