The manor on Ocean Road didn’t look like a house; it looked like a tombstone carved from granite and spite.
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Chapter 9 / 10
Chapter 9 - THE UNSEEN PASSENGERI sat in my new apartment, watching the sunset. I felt a weight on my lap. I looked down.
There, sitting on my desk, was a small, sealed envelope. It had been there since the day I left the manor.
I opened it. Inside was a list of names. Not collection agencies. Not creditors.
It was a list of other "conservators"—people like me, who had been chosen to hold the keys to other houses like Vane’s.
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I realized then that the manor hadn't been the only prison.
I picked up the pen. I wasn't just a survivor. I was an executioner.
