I didn't come to Thornridge to play detective. I came to escape?my past, my responsibilities, the endless nagging voice in my head telling me to "be reasonable." But this house? It has other plans. First, there's the piano that seems to play itself when no one's looking, as if the walls are trying to hum a forgotten tune. Then there's Julian?the maddeningly mysterious man with secrets buried deeper than the layers of dust on the family portraits. And let's not forget Eleanor, the woman who's been gone for years but still manages to haunt every shadowed corner of this crumbling estate. When I stumble upon a cache of old letters hidden in the fireplace, I realize I've walked into more than a renovation project. There's something dark here, lurking beneath the surface?memories that refuse to rest, secrets that bite harder than the winter wind. And somehow, I'm at the center of it all. I'd love to tell you I'm handling it with grace, but let's be real: I'm just trying not to fall off the edge. Literally.