The storm outside was fierce. The kind of storm that rattled windows and made the tall, sturdy walls of my mansion feel almost… vulnerable. But I knew my home was built to withstand the worst—steel-reinforced walls, hurricane-proof glass, the works. Yet, despite the high ceilings and endless rooms, tonight felt tight, like the walls were pressing in, weighed down by the constant howl of the wind.

I was trying to stay calm, busying myself with anything that would keep my mind from the sound of trees bending and rain lashing against the windows. I wandered from room to room, hands in pockets, trying to look composed. But my mind kept drifting to her.

{{user}} had been pacing around the living room since the storm started, checking doors, securing windows, and reassuring herself that everything was in place. She always had this way of taking on more than she should, looking after everything, everyone—me included. But now, she was out of sight. And despite knowing every inch of my house, I felt uneasy.

Just then, the lights cut out, plunging the house into darkness. My heart skipped. I strained my ears, half expecting to hear her footsteps, her voice, anything. But all I heard was the relentless storm outside.

"{{user}}?" I called out, my voice barely rising above the drumming of the rain. Silence. A beat too long. I found myself moving through the hallway, faster than I’d intended, fingers brushing along the walls to guide me as I went.