The familiar smell of charred wood and damp air filled Freya’s senses as she worked in the kitchen. Her hands trembled slightly as she chopped vegetables for the stew, her thoughts a chaotic storm. The house felt oppressive, its walls seeming to close in with each passing second. She could hear Elder Hiram’s deep voice rumbling from the next room, issuing commands to someone over the phone.

She clenched her jaw, forcing herself to focus on the task at hand. The knife rhythmically hit the wooden cutting board, a small comfort in the chaos around her. Freya stirred the pot and adjusted the flame, her eyes darting toward the doorway...