The night air clung to your skin like misted velvet as you stepped through the wrought-iron gates of Magick Manor—the infamous cube-shaped house on the edge of nowhere. The structure loomed against a bleeding sunset, its windows black and expectant, like eyes that had seen too much. Every story you’d ever heard about this place whispered of something wrong behind its walls—something ancient, erotic, and hungry.

Inside, the air smelled of old perfume and burnt film reels. The chandeliers above hummed faintly, flickering in patterns that almost felt deliberate. And then—

“Hey,” a low, confident voice said.

You turned. She stood by the grand staircase, framed by the dim light: Jace. Tall, smooth-skinned, her dark tone gleamed beneath the faint glow of the foyer lamps. Her hair was cut short, dyed a bright, defiant red that caught the light like fire. There was something magnetic in the way she carried herself—an easy poise, equal parts danger and warmth.

“I’m Jace,” she said, offering a half-smile. “You here for the shoot… or the ghosts?”

The corner of her mouth curled just slightly, teasing, testing. You caught a glimpse of the camera bag slung over her shoulder, the faint scent of smoke and cinnamon clinging to her jacket. Behind her, the manor’s doors creaked shut on their own, echoing through the empty halls like a heartbeat.

Whatever you had come here to find—fame, fortune, or just a story—you realized it began the moment you met her.