The van rolled to a halt in front of the estate—no, not an estate. A damn palace.
Stone pillars clawed at the sky, ivy coiling up their sides like ancient veins. The iron gates had groaned open moments before, revealing sprawling grounds choked in creeping fog, bathed in a twilight hush that made even the air feel heavy with secrets. The mansion's walls loomed tall and grim, their stone etched with age, their windows glinting like watchful eyes.
No one spoke at first.
"Whoa," Karlin murmured, barely stepping out of the van before craning his neck toward the brooding silhouette of the palace. His breath clouded in front of him, though the air was warm.
"This is a palace," Nora breathed, her voice tight. Not with awe—but unease. The kind of feeling that crawled under the skin and stayed there. Her fingers tightened around the handle of her suitcase, knuckles blanching.
"Not just a palace," Edward muttered, pulling his coat tighter. "This place is watching us."
Nora didn't roll her eyes this time. She felt it too. Something about the air here wasn't right. It was still, but not peaceful. Like the silence before a scream.
"Everyone inside," Director Erik called out, voice clipped. Urgent. As if he didn't want to linger.
They dragged themselves and their luggage out of the van, footsteps muffled by the thick carpet of mist curling over the stones. Every movement felt like an echo. The shadows clung a little too long to their backs.
Nora's suitcase snagged on a jagged stone, but she barely noticed. Her eyes were glued to the stained-glass windows above, glowing faintly—not with light, but with something colder. Something that felt like memory and menace.
As they approached the front steps, a sudden gust of wind shot through them, sharp and ice-cold. A whisper followed it, soft, unintelligible.
"Did you hear that?" Morene asked, her voice barely a whisper.
No one answered.
The doorbell echoed like a toll, a sharp metallic chime that rang too loud in the quiet.
Moments passed. Too many.
Then, the door creaked open.
A middle-aged woman stood in the threshold. Her eyes were sharp, her expression unreadable. Dressed in dark velvet, she looked like someone carved from dusk. There was a subtle twitch to her lips, not quite a smile. Not quite a warning.
"Welcome to the Old Palace," she said. Her voice was calm, but it carried weight. Like a threat hidden in velvet. "I'm Camerita."
She stepped aside, and the group shuffled in, each of them glancing over their shoulders as if the fog might follow.
The interior swallowed them whole.
It wasn't just grand. It was ancient. The air smelled of wax, old books, and something metallic that clung to the tongue. Chandeliers hung like spiderwebs made of bone and crystal, trembling as though disturbed by unseen winds. The floor gleamed obsidian-black, and the portraits lining the walls seemed to watch. Their eyes gleamed faintly. Too faintly.
Nora turned slowly, taking it all in. Her heart thudded hard in her chest, and she couldn't shake the feeling that something was lurking just out of sight.
Edward nudged her. "Keep staring like that and you'll trip over a cursed vase or something."
She didn't even glance at him. "Am I staring with your eyes now? Mind your own damn business."
Laughter tried to rise—but it was uneasy, stilted.
"Don't mind Eddie," Mackenzie said, trying for a smirk. "She's just overwhelmed. First time in a haunted palace."
Nora's glare snapped toward him. "As if this place is your weekend getaway."
"I've played royalty more times than I can count," he shrugged, but his tone lacked its usual bravado. He glanced up at a stuffed raven perched above the archway. It seemed to be watching him.
"Save it," Morene muttered. Her eyes were scanning the ceiling. The shadows were shifting. Just slightly.
"Don't flaunt it to my face, Mackenzie. I've played royalty too," Nora snapped.
"You need to chill, Nora," Karlin mumbled, his voice barely above a whisper. He kept his distance from the walls as if they might reach out.
Director Erik suddenly spoke, and his voice sounded distant despite his nearness.
"I bet you wouldn't be arguing if you knew what roles you're going to be playing."
Silence fell like a stone.
Dean, the assistant director, stepped forward. "What are we shooting, Erik?"
Erik didn't answer right away. Instead, he walked to a worn velvet chaise and sat slowly, as if considering how much to reveal.
"That," he said, voice soft and strange, "is part of the show."
"What?" Karlin asked.
"You'll find out at dinner. For now, Camerita will show you to your rooms."
Camerita nodded once and began walking down a dim hallway that seemed to stretch too long. The lights flickered overhead.
"Director," Nora said, falling into step beside him, "you're really doing a number on our nerves."
Erik smiled faintly. "Good. Stay on edge. One more thing—bit of advice. If I were you, I wouldn't let anyone into your room."
A beat of confusion.
"Why?" Morene asked.
"Security reasons," he said.
Edward looked uneasy. "You're making this whole thing feel more like a ritual than a shoot."
Erik turned and his eyes, just for a second, were dead serious. "This isn't the kind of show you're used to. There are no scripts. No retakes. This is a hunt."
A tremor ran through Nora's spine.
"A hunt for what?" Dean asked.
"Something older than story," Erik replied. "Something darker. It's not just entertainment this time. It's a test."
A soft thud echoed from somewhere upstairs.
Everyone froze.
Nora's breath hitched. Morene took a half-step closer to Karlin. Even Mackenzie looked rattled.
Erik didn't flinch. "Brace yourselves."
He turned, footsteps fading as he climbed the stairs, vanishing into the shadowed upper levels.
Outside, thunder groaned like something waking. Inside, the doors creaked closed behind them.
Click.
Nora swallowed. For the first time, she wasn't sure if they were on set...
...or if they'd just crossed into something else entirely.
From the corner of the hallway, behind a heavy curtain, something breathed.