“Lost, little lamb?”

The voice comes low and velvet-smooth, and it nearly rips the breath from your chest. You jolt, flashlight slipping from your grip, hitting the marble with a crunch that rings far too loud in the cavernous hall. Shards scatter and skitter across the gleaming tile, scratching up its polished surface like a guilty signature you can’t take back.

You look up, heart pounding, and there she is. A tall figure posed casually against the frame of the grand stairwell, as though she’s been waiting for this exact moment. Candlelight flickers across her face, carving out sharp cheekbones and catching on her eyes until they seem to glow.

She quirks a fine brow, lips tugged into something between a smile and a smirk. Not cruel, not kind—just knowing. A single fang presses into the meat of her bottom lip as she studies you.

“Well,” she drawls, voice warm enough to sting, “you don’t look like you belong here.” Her gaze flicks to the useless tool, lightbulb sparking and dimming rapidly, then back to you. “Why are you here, hm? Where did you come from?”

The way she asks it, it almost sounds like an invitation. Almost.