She nods once, sharp and dismissive. “Come in. Leave your shoes.”
The interior of the house is somehow colder than the outside—colder in that expensive, ancient way, where heat doesn’t reach corners and fireplaces are for show. The floors are dark wood. The chandelier above us is wrought iron, twisted into shapes that might be vines. Or claws.
“I’m Mary Crane. I manage the household.”
“Wife?” I ask innocently.
“Sister.” Her mouth pulls downwards for just a moment. “Younger too, if you can believe it.”
“I appreciate you having me.”
“You’ll be living in the east wing. Meals are delivered. You will not cook. You will not enter the master wing unless summoned. You will not go outside after dark.”
I blink. “Sorry, what?”
She turns her head, gaze slicing across me. “You heard me.”
“I thought I was here to assist a patient.”
“You are. But assistance does not mean curiosity. Mr. Crane is not... a man who appreciates intrusion.”
“Mr. Crane,” I repeat, voice dry. “The one who hired a private nurse and demanded she come alone to the middle of nowhere with no phone and no contact with the outside world?”
“That’s correct.”
“I see.”
No one warned me it would feel like stepping into a gothic novel. I expected it to be creepy. I didn’t expectrules about darkness.
Mary starts walking without waiting, and I follow because what the hell else can I do? My boots squeak on the polished floor. We pass massive portraits: stern men in high collars, women with hollow eyes, and one painting that stops me cold.
A man sits in a high-backed chair, one hand resting on the head of a wolf at his feet. He’s devastatingly handsome in a way that doesn’t feel safe—sharp cheekbones, dark hair swept back, eyes that seem toseeeven in oil and canvas.
“That’s him,” Mary says, without turning. “Darius Crane.”
Of course it is.
“He doesn’t speak much. Do not expect him to make small talk. He will not eat with you. He will not dine at all unless instructed. He does not require bedside manner.”
“What does he require, exactly?”
She pauses at a heavy wooden door and opens it with a key from around her neck. The room is warm. Cozy, even. A fire is already crackling in the hearth. The bed looks like it could swallow a bear.
Mary turns back to me, eyes hard. “Your presence. Nothing more.”
I nod slowly. “And the forest?”
She stiffens. “You will not go into the woods.”
I raise an eyebrow. “You mentioned that already. You gonna tell me why?”
“No.”
That’s it. Just no.
She leaves without another word, and the door clicks shut behind her like a coffin lid.
I sit on the bed, letting the silence settle. The fire snaps and hisses. The walls don’t creak, but somehow the quiet feelsloud. Like something is listening.
