The first thing I noticed about Ravenwood Estate was that it listened.
Not in the way houses usually do creaking pipes, whispering floors, the groan of old wood settling into itself but in a way that felt deliberate, as though every sound I made was being cataloged and remembered. My footsteps on the stone driveway echoed too cleanly. The air itself seemed to pause when I stopped walking, waiting for me to move again.
I tightened my grip around the handle of my suitcase and lifted my eyes to the house.
Ravenwood rose from the fog like a secret that had outlived the people who tried to bury it. Three stories tall, all dark stone and narrow windows, its architecture leaned somewhere between elegance and restraint, as if beauty had been allowed but only in moderation. Ivy crawled up the walls in careful lines, almost intentional, and the windows reflected the grey sky so perfectly they looked like mirrors rather than glass.
This was my last chance.
I had told myself that the entire bus ride here, my thoughts repeating the words like a prayer I didn't quite believe in. A live-in position. No questions about my past. Good pay. Isolation. Structure. All the things I needed to disappear.
I adjusted my coat and stepped forward, lifting my hand to knock.
The door opened before my knuckles touched the wood.
She stood there already smiling, as though she'd been waiting for me.
"Justina," the woman said softly. "You found us."
Her voice was warm too warm for a stranger. She was tall, willowy, her dark hair pulled back loosely at the nape of her neck. She wore cream colored silk that moved when she breathed, and her eyes sharp, observant, unsettling dragged slowly over my face.
"Yes," I said, forcing a polite smile. "I'm Justina Hale."
Her smile widened, but something in it didn't reach her eyes.
"I'm Elara Ravenwood," she replied, stepping aside. "Welcome to our home."
The moment I crossed the threshold, the door closed behind me with a soft, final click.
The warmth inside the house was immediate, almost suffocating, like being wrapped in something too tight. The air smelled faintly of lavender and old paper. Marble floors stretched beneath my feet, polished to a dull shine, and a wide staircase curved upward like the spine of a waiting animal.
"You're right on time," Elara said. "That's important to us."
"I try to be punctual," I answered.
She tilted her head. "Good. Punctuality means respect."
Her gaze lingered on me again, longer this time, as though she were reading something written beneath my skin. I resisted the urge to fidget. People often looked at me like that like they sensed there was more to me than what I presented. I had learned how to look harmless anyway.
"Please," she gestured inward. "Come in fully. The cold has a way of following people inside."
I stepped farther into the foyer, and for a brief, disorienting second, I felt as though the space behind me stretched longer than it should have. When I turned, the door stood exactly where it should.
Elara watched me notice.
"You'll be staying with us," she continued, leading me deeper into the house. "Full time. We prefer… consistency."
"Yes, ma'am."
She waved a hand dismissively. "No need for that. You may call me Elara."
The hallway we walked through was lined with framed photographs family portraits, charity events, smiling faces frozen in time. But the longer I looked, the more wrong they felt. The smiles were too practiced. The eyes too empty. And in several frames, I could swear the same shadow lingered behind them, subtle but identical.
"Elara?" I asked.
She stopped immediately.
"Yes?"
"I was told I'd be caring for the household and assisting where needed. Cleaning, meals, errands…"
"And observing," she added calmly.
I blinked. "I'm sorry?"
She smiled again. "A joke, Justina. You'll learn we value attentiveness here."
We resumed walking.
At the end of the hall, a man stood near the fireplace, his back to us. He was tall, broad-shouldered, his posture stiff as if he were holding himself together through sheer will.
"Elara," he said quietly without turning. "She's here."
"Yes," Elara replied. "She's right on time."
The man turned then, and the breath left my lungs in a way I wasn't prepared for.
His face was handsome in a tired, restrained way dark hair falling into his eyes, jaw tight with something unsaid. But it was his eyes that undid me. Brown. Deep. Weighted with sorrow so heavy it felt intimate to witness.
This was Caleb Ravenwood.
His gaze met mine, and something sharp and electric passed between us. Recognition, maybe. Or warning.
"Justina," Elara said smoothly, "this is my husband."
Caleb nodded. "Welcome."
His voice was low, careful, like every word had been measured before release.
"Thank you," I replied.
For a moment, neither of us looked away.
Then Elara clapped her hands softly. "I'll show you your room."
She led me up the stairs, her heels clicking in a steady rhythm. The second floor held bedrooms, all of them pristine, untouched, like they were waiting for occupants who had never arrived. The third floor was narrower, the ceiling sloping inward as though the house were closing in on itself.
At the very end of the hall stood a single door.
"This will be yours," Elara said.
The room beyond was small but neat. A single bed. A dresser. A window that looked out over the forest, dark and endless. The walls were painted a soft grey, calming but impersonal.
"It locks from the outside," she added casually.
I turned to her slowly. "I'm sorry?"
"For safety," she said, her smile unwavering. "We lock all staff rooms at night. Routine is important here."
A familiar chill settled into my spine. Fear, sharp and instinctive, flared briefly then faded.
I had known worse rules. Worse houses. Worse cages.
"I understand," I said.
Elara studied me carefully, then nodded. "Dinner is at seven. Caleb will join us tonight."
Her eyes flicked toward the hallway before returning to me. "And Justina?"
"Yes?"
"Do not wander after dark."
The door closed behind her, leaving me alone with the quiet.
I set my suitcase down slowly, listening.
Somewhere above me higher than my room, higher than the third floor I heard a sound.
A soft, rhythmic knocking.
Three taps.
Then silence.
The house, I realized, had learned my name.
And it was pleased I had come.