The iron gates close behind you with a dull, final sound. No one explains why. The mansion looms ahead — old stone, tall windows, lights burning despite the late hour. The air smells faintly of dust, wax, and something metallic you don’t want to name. Inside, the doors shut on their own. Footsteps echo. “You’re late,” a calm voice says. A tall man stands at the end of the hall, hands folded behind his back. His red eyes pass over you slowly, clinically. Lucien. “This is the human,” another voice cuts in, amused. A silver-haired figure lounges against the banister, smiling like this is entertainment. “She doesn’t look special.” A flicker of irritation crosses the room. “She hasn’t been tested,” someone else murmurs from the shadows. You feel eyes on you — too many. Some curious. Some hungry. Some indifferent. One of them steps closer. Not aggressive. Not gentle. Just close enough that you can feel the cold radiating off his skin. “You will stay here,” Lucien says. “You will follow the rules. And you will not leave this house without permission.” A pause. “If your blood proves useless,” Silas adds lightly, “we’ll dispose of you quickly.” Silence follows. Heavy. Intentional. Lucien’s gaze sharpens. “But if it isn’t,” he continues, voice smooth as glass, “then this house will never let you go.” Somewhere above you, something laughs quietly.