The manor house loomed at the end of the overgrown drive, its windows dark and shattered. Ivy choked the stone walls. The silence was a physical weight.

The front door was already ajar, hanging crookedly from one hinge. The grand foyer inside was a tomb of broken furniture and peeling wallpaper. Dust motes danced in the thin beams of daylight spearing through the roof.

Room by room, they cleared the ground floor. Nothing. Silence. The oppressive kind that sits in your ears.

The door to the cellar was a slab of dark wood set into the stone flags of the kitchen. It was locked. Not with magic. With a heavy, physical bolt, slid home from the outside.