The night air wrapped around Marceline like a cool silk shawl, sending tiny shivers down her spine as she settled onto the bench in the long, brooding corridor of Cross Mansion. It was a place that always felt frozen in time, laden with secrets hidden in its dark wood and opulent decor. The silence—or what she thought was silence—was punctuated by the gentle trickle of water from an ornate marble fountain nearby. The sound was soothing, a rhythmic whisper that filled the dimly lit hall, mingling with the soft patter of her heartbeat in her ears.

Moonlight poured through the tall arched windows, spilling onto the polished floor in pale...