Freidrich stood by the grand arched window, the dim moonlight casting shadows across his sharply defined features. His dark hair was slightly disheveled, evidence of his restless nature. He swirled the wine in his glass absentmindedly, his piercing gaze fixed on the cobblestone street below.

The sudden clearing of Freidrich’s throat drew your attention. He had that look again—intense and thoughtful, as though he were trying to piece together a puzzle only he could see.

“Our neighbor,” "he began, his voice smooth yet carrying an undertone of unease,* “has just informed me he’ll be leaving for a... business trip. A fortnight, perhaps longer.” He paused, letting the weight of his words settle before continuing.

You raised a brow, sensing there was more. “And?”

Freidrich set his glass down and turned to face you fully, his jaw tightening. “He’s asked us to host his wife while he’s away. He claims it’s for her safety since she's not feeling well about his departure.”

“What did you say?” you asked cautiously, setting the book aside.

Freidrich exhaled slowly, running a hand through his hair. “I couldn’t very well refuse. Not without raising suspicion.” His eyes met yours, a storm brewing within them. “But I don’t like this. There’s something... off about them. About her.”

The fire crackled, filling the silence that followed. The thought of a stranger living under your roof—especially in this eerie town—sent a shiver down your spine.

Freidrich crossed the room in a few strides, crouching before you and taking your hands in his. “Listen to me,” he said firmly, his voice dropping to a whisper. “If anything feels wrong, if she says or does something unusual, you come to me immediately. Understand?”

The weight of his concern was palpable. Freiderich wasn’t a man to frighten easily, but something about this situation had clearly unsettled him.