Chapter 1 - THE WEIGHT OF THE AIRThe manor on Ocean Road didn’t look like a house; it looked like a tombstone carved from granite and spite. As my sedan crunched over the gravel, the massive black iron gates groaned shut behind me, the sound echoing like a prison door locking.
Waiting on the porch was the owner: Julian Vane. He looked like he had stepped out of a century where people still fought duels. His eyes were the color of cold tea, and he held a leash in his hand. Attached to the leash was a massive beast—a Doberman-Mastiff mix that made my sedan look like a toy.
"Miss Whitmore," he said, his voice a smooth, low register. "I trust the drive wasn't too taxing?"
I stepped out of the car, feeling the heavy, damp air press against my skin. "I've had worse drives."
He didn't acknowledge my snark. He didn't even look at me. His gaze drifted past my shoulder to the passenger seat of my car, where the walnut box sat, neatly buckled in. For a second, his expression tightened.
Then, the dog moved.
The beast pulled the leash from Vane’s hand, but it didn't lunge. It trotted to my side, its massive head pushing against my hip. It whined—a high, human-like sound—and then dropped to the ground, pressing its snout against the passenger door where my mother’s ashes rested.
"He likes you," Vane said, though his voice sounded disappointed. "He hasn't liked anyone since he arrived."
May you like
"He’s a good judge of character," I replied, grabbing my bag of work clothes.
"I hope so," Vane murmured, walking toward the towering oak doors. "Because in this house, Clara, the dog is the only thing that knows what’s real. Do not let that box out of your sight. Whatever you do, do not open it."
