Wren’s POV

Something touches my breast and I kick so hard the bedsheet flies off the mattress.

I sit up in the dark.

It’s my first night in the manor. Boxes still stacked in the hallway. The bedroom smells like old wood and dust and the realtor's perfume from this morning when she handed me the keys with a smile that said good luck in a way that meant something different than good luck usually means.

The house was dirt cheap. Victorian. Original hardwood. Twelve rooms. A price so low the listing had been up for two years because every buyer who toured it left within ten minutes.

The last...