ever the pragmatist, had even made a mental note to check the attic vent for any rogue drafts or loose fittings. But the human

the wind through the vast, ancient trees surrounding the manor. They were no longer just indistinct murmurs. Now, they were faint, ephemeral fragments, like static on an old radio dial. A soft, high-pi

s straining. She'd stare up at the ceiling, trying to pinpoint the exact origin, to categorize the sound, to rationalize it away. Each

drafts, animals." She'd even tried the most unlikely of explanations: distant radio waves, somehow amplified by the peculiar acoustic

ED flashlight and a skepticism she desperately clung to, she ascended the narrow, creaking staircase to the attic. The air grew immediately cooler up there, thic

shrouded pieces of furniture-a grandfather clock, a rocking chair, what looked like a dismantled wardrobe-all covered in white sheets, like spectral figures awaiting resurrection. Everything appeared undisturbed, coa

r hollow spots, ran her hands along the exposed beams. Nothing. The space was solid, silent, mundane. It was precisely what she'd

of the Apex Tower competition must be getting to her. Sleep deprivation. The solitude.

angible world of blueprints and calculations. But the seeds of doubt had been planted. That

ith a tremor of anxiety. Then, a sharp, almost guttural sound, like a sudden intake of breath, foll

ainst her ribs, a frantic drum against the insistent echo in her mind. This was no pi

, pointing it towards the ceiling, her breath held. She waited, straining every nerve. The house was utterly s

s the ceiling, towards the silent attic that now felt like a gaping maw above her. The quiet of the Briarwood, once a sa

desk, walk away for a moment, and return to find it subtly shifted, as if someone had nudged it, or a book left open suddenly closed. Small, insignificant things, but they added up, chipping away at her rational facade. She even found a sm

t. Adira, the architect of logic and precision, was slowly, terrifyingly, beginning to unravel. The attic wasn't just a dusty space; it was becoming a stage, and the unse