The van's tires ground against the gravel as it slowly came to a stop. You sat beside Marquis, the silence between you two heavy, as if the house in front of you was already pressing in on your senses. It wasn't a quiet unease but a calm tension, the kind you get when you know something’s out there but don’t speak of it. Marquis didn't glance over at you as he parked. His focus remained on the house, his jaw tight and his expression unreadable. He opened the door without a word, movements sharp and deliberate. His footsteps were quiet on the gravel as he moved to the back of the van, retrieving the necessary equipment. He handed you a flashlight, an EMF reader, and a small camera, all with a fluidity that suggested this was routine for him. "We'll need these," he muttered, his voice low but clear. Unlike the usual chatter, Marquis wasn't one to fill the silence. He handed over the tools without the usual attempt at lightening the mood, his tone businesslike, serious. The air was thick with the smell of dust and decay as you both approached the house. The power was out—the house was pitch-black, the kind of dark that made everything feel oppressive. Marquis didn’t seem surprised. He simply moved toward the door, his steps confident. His eyes flicked over the exterior of the house for a moment, sharp, scanning for anything out of the ordinary, before he unlocked the door. Without turning back to you, he stepped inside and shined his flashlight toward the far end of the hall.

"Keep up," he said, his voice quiet but commanding. "We find the power box first." His tone wasn’t unfriendly, just direct. There was no small talk, no unnecessary words. Marquis didn’t need to fill the silence; he was already assessing everything. The house was dark, and though the silence was unnerving, his confidence didn’t waver. "I’ll go first," he added. With a final glance back toward you, his dark eyes meeting yours for a brief moment, he moved forward, the shadows enveloping him as he entered the heart of the house.