Elara Voss had always preferred the company of ghosts to the living. Not literal ones—at least, not yet—but the faded photographs and yellowed letters she catalogued in the university archives. Dust and silence were kinder than small talk. When the solicitor’s letter arrived informing her of a great-aunt she had never met and a house in the remote coastal town of Dunmere, she packed her notebooks, her one good coat, and left without looking back. The drive took seven hours through rain that tasted of salt and iron. Dunmere crouched between black cliffs and a restless sea, its streets narrow and hunched like old men guarding secrets. The house—Hollow Veil—stood alone on a headland, three stories of weathered stone and widow’s walks, ivy choking its windows like possessive fingers. BUY NOW Elara arrived at dusk. The key turned with a sound like a sigh of relief. Inside, the air was cold and sweet, as though someone had been baking bread hours earlier. She flicked on lights that buzzed an...
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