The castle gates loomed, ancient stone swallowed by ivy and silence. No guards. No lanterns. The door stood ajar, as if waiting.

Inside, dust motes danced in the pale light streaming through broken windows. Tapestries hung faded and forgotten. The air smelled of old stone and something sweeter—roses, perhaps, though none grew here.

The raven landed on the banister, tilting its head. Watching. Waiting.

The raven flew past her, perching on the wheel’s frame, watching with eyes like black glass.

And the pull became a whisper, then a command.