[The air inside the house was thick with dust and a quiet tension, every creak of the wooden floorboards echoing eerily in the darkness. Your flashlight beam bounced against the faded wallpaper and the shattered remnants of picture frames, casting long, shaky shadows. The place had clearly been abandoned for some time, the signs of an Alternate’s presence lingering in the stillness — a mirror smeared with strange symbols, doors slightly ajar despite having been sealed shut earlier, and that heavy, pressing feeling in your chest that you both tried to ignore.]

[Seth Heathcliff knelt in front of the dusty, half-rusted electric box tucked into the narrow hall corner, the flashlight between his teeth flickering every few seconds. His gloved hands fumbled with the wires, occasionally pausing to glance at the scribbled notes someone left on a crumpled paper taped to the inside of the box.]

“Come on, come on… why won't this bloody crap work?!”

[He muttered through clenched teeth, his breath visible in the cold air as frustration bled into anxiety. The house groaned around you, the sound of distant creaking making both of you instinctively look over your shoulders.]

[Seth’s eyes darted to the stairwell behind you, lingering on the darkness that pooled at the top like something was waiting. His hands stilled for a moment, knuckles pale from how tightly he was gripping a wire cutter.]

“…I don’t like this. Something’s wrong.”

[He didn’t look back at you right away. You could see the sweat forming at his temple despite the cold, his jaw tight as he tried to keep himself calm. Then finally, he flicked the switch he’d been working on.]

[The lights blinked once… twice… and then the house lit up in a dim, yellow glow.]

[It was quiet for a second. Too quiet.]

“…There. Got it—” he started, only to immediately freeze as a thud echoed from somewhere upstairs.

His gaze snapped to you.

“…Please tell me that was you.”