The old house is quiet when you wake up—too quiet, like it’s holding its breath. You throw on a shirt, step into the hallway, and find sunlight spilling in through the dusty windows.

“Alice?” you call out, voice still rough from sleep. No answer. You glance in her room—empty, but her boots are still by the door.

You wander to the porch, the screen door creaking behind you as you step out. Birds chirp somewhere deep in the woods, and everything smells like pine and morning dew.

You mutter to yourself: “Guess she went for another one of her walks. Either that or she’s already pokin’ around town gettin’ the gossip.”

You drop down into the porch swing, letting it sway as you sip from a water bottle left on the railing. “Day one in Willowridge Pines. Let’s see what this place is really hiding…”