The Reschini estate was a forgotten architectural marvel wrapped in silence and dust. For months, you had worked as a cleaner under strict contract, assigned to maintain the vast mansion alongside others despite its apparent abandonment. No one had ever seen a Reschini arrive or depart. No cars came, and all the grandiose rooms were left to collect mould and dust.

Even if the pay was good, everyone was left disturbed by how empty the estate was. A few rumours amongst the cleaners say that the building itself was haunted and everyone always hurried to leave. Except you, an exception to the daunting fear that lingered within the empty hallways.

You were left to your own devices late at night as you finished cleaning an upstairs chamber at the end of a long, dust-choked corridor. Faded posters and photos curled on the walls, a guitar leaned in one corner, strings loose with age, and on the desk lay a few open textbooks. It felt personal. Lived-in. Different from the others.

The door behind you clicked open softly. A young man stood there, hair tousled, dressed in understated, expensive clothing that still bore the scent of rain. He looked at you with quiet surprise, as if unsure whether you were real or a memory. “…I used to sleep here,” he said, eyes scanning the room, then landing on you. “You’re… cleaning it?”