Inheriting an eerie mansion in the middle of nowhere wasn't exactly on my vision board, but here I am-Elara Carling, amateur skeptic, professional avoider of family drama, and now reluctant heiress to Ashridge Manor. It was supposed to be simple: pack up my late aunt's belongings, sign some papers, and hightail it back to the comforting chaos of New York. But nothing about this place is simple-not the cryptic caretaker who seems to know more than he's saying, not the mirrors that reflect things I know I didn't see, and definitely not the whispers in the walls that feel like they're calling my name. Just when I think I've hit peak haunted-house cliché, the rules shift. I'm not just sorting through an old woman's dusty secrets anymore; I'm untangling generations of darkness, and the deeper I dig, the harder it is to tell where the house ends and I begin. Lachlan says the house feeds on fear, but fear might be the only thing keeping me sharp enough to survive whatever it's planning. Or whoever it's protecting. One thing's for sure-I'm not leaving Ashridge Manor the same way I came in. If I'm leaving at all.