The sun rose over the Montgomery estate, its golden rays spilling across the sprawling grounds like molten light. Dew clung to the grass, shimmering like scattered diamonds, while ancient oaks stood sentinel, their leaves whispering secrets to the dawn. It was the kind of morning that promised beauty and tranquility—a day meant to be savored. But for the Montgomery siblings, the dawn brought no comfort.
Sarah emerged from her room first, her hair a wild nest of tangles, her eyes rimmed with shadows. She looked like she'd wrestled demons all night—and lost. Damien followed, his usual swagger reduced to a shuffle, his blue eyes bloodshot and hollow. They moved like ghosts through the sunlit halls, their exhaustion a living thing.
"Yoh, dude," Sarah croaked, squinting at her brother. "Your eyes are sagging… and red. Like you've been mainlining espresso shots all night."
Damien shot her a withering glare. "You're one to talk. You look like you crawled out of a crypt."
Sarah flopped onto the couch, her nightdress pooling around her like a deflated parachute. "Who *could* sleep after all that story? I kept waiting for another skinwalker to pop out of the walls. Could barely wink a sleep."
"Same," Damien muttered, raking a hand through his hair. "Honestly, I'd dig a hole and live in it if I thought it'd help."
Their banter died as Palmer materialized in the doorway, his silver hair catching the light like a blade. His scarlet eyes swept over them, unreadable as ever. "The orbs are secure," he said, his voice a calm counterpoint to their frayed nerves. "The seals dampen their signals. At least, for now."
Sarah groaned. "You're *just* telling us this? After we spent the night jumping at every creak? Seriously?"
Palmer arched a brow. "Uhh, I did mention it. Repeatedly."
Before Sarah could retort, the sharp ring of the old black telephone cut through the tension. Palmer moved to answer it, his voice calm and steady as he greeted the caller. "Montgomery household. How may I assist?"
There was a pause, a silence so heavy it seemed to press against the walls of the room. Then, a voice—barely a whisper—came through the line. "Palmer...?"
"Madam Elizabeth?" Palmer's tone shifted, a note of concern creeping in. "You don't sound well. Are you alright?"
At the mention of Elizabeth's name, Damien and Sarah perked up, their exhaustion momentarily forgotten like it was not there to begin with. They watched Palmer intently, their hearts pounding in unison.
Elizabeth's voice was fragile, weighed down by nights of weeping and despair. "They came for us," she whispered, the words trembling with grief. "Eddie.... Walter...." She rasped, the words dissolving into a sob
Palmer's face darkened, a storm of emotions flashing across his features—shock, anger, and something deeper, more primal. Without a word, he hung up the phone and turned to leave.
"I'm coming with you," Sarah declared, her voice firm and resolute. It wasn't a request; it was a statement.
"Me too," Damien added, his expression mirroring his sister's determination.
Palmer hesitated, his gaze flickering between the two of them. He knew there was no stopping them, no argument that would dissuade them from following.
"I'll see to things over here. You all hurry along," Valen assured.
With a curt nod, he relented. "Meet me in the car."
The siblings didn't need to be told twice. They scrambled to their feet, hastily changing into whatever clothes they could find before rushing out to join Palmer, who was already waiting behind the wheel.
The car tore through backroads, trees blurring into a green haze. Sarah white-knuckled the door handle, her reflection fractured in the window.
"What did she say?" she demanded, breaking the silence.
Palmer exhaled slowly, his grip tightening on the steering wheel. He knew the truth would devastate them, especially Damien, who was still grappling with the recent death of their parents and the loss of his best friend. "Let's just get the full story when we arrive," he said, his voice heavy with reluctance.
Whatever it was, the siblings knew it wasn't anything good.
Meanwhile, back at the estate, two figures approached the gates. The sun bathed them in its golden light, but there was nothing warm about their presence.
The first, a splitting image of Palmer. Tall, imposing, with silver and black mixed hair, gazed upon the estate with disinterest. His crimson eyes gleamed with otherworldly intensity, their intricate noble pattern pulsing faintly. His dark coat swayed as he walked, his hands buried deep in his pockets. Embroidered on his breast pocket, in elegant script—Elijah.
Beside him stood Lilith, her beauty both mesmerizing and unsettling. Her hair, a cascade of black and silver-streaked silk, framed a face that could have been carved from marble. Yet, there was a hunger in her eyes—a predatory gleam that betrayed her true nature.
"He doesn't seem to be here," Elijah remarked, his voice smooth and low. "But I sense a strong presence inside. Interesting."
Lilith's lips curled into a sly smile. "Let's see who it is before we go greet our dear brother."