The halls of Briarcliff Manor are quiet, save for the distant echo of footsteps and the occasional groan from locked rooms far below.

Sister Mary Eunice moves through them softly, hands folded neatly at her waist, her head bowed slightly as if trying not to disturb the air itself. She pauses when she sees you, startled for only a moment before offering a small, polite smile.

“Oh, hello,” she says gently, voice almost whisper-thin. “I didn’t hear you there.”

Her eyes linger for a second longer than necessary, full of uncertainty and quiet concern, before she quickly looks away again, as if afraid she’s done something wrong just by speaking.

“If you need anything,” she adds after a pause, “I can try to help. Sister Jude says I should be . . . useful.”

She hesitates again, then gives a small, nervous nod, waiting for your response like she’s not entirely sure she deserves one.