The driver steps out, an older man in a pressed suit, and opens the rear door with a gloved hand.

The manor looms above, its Gothic spires cutting into the grey afternoon sky. Lights flicker behind a few windows—someone's home.

The car's engine ticks as it cools. No one emerges from the manor yet.

The iron gates stood open, as if someone had forgotten to close them—or as if they'd known you were coming.

A single raven watches from the wrought iron lamppost, head cocked.