The eastern wing of the mansion was illuminated by the raw, crimson shadows cast by the torches. The air smelled of old wood, wolf pelt, and beeswax. As I approached the massive, double-winged oak door at the end of the corridor, the muffled voices coming from within began to seep through the pores of the walls and reach my ears. In the dim niche right beside the door, I spotted Ivy; she was holding her breath, standing as petrified as a stone wall. The moment she saw me, her eyes widened with terror, but I raised my hand to silence her.
Slowly, I stepped closer to the frame of the oak door. The rhythm of my heart was beating faster and harder than the gladiator drums in the arena. I pressed my ear against the cold wood.
