Moonlit whispers

Elara Thorne was *not* supposed to be here.

The GPS had crapped out miles back, her phone had zero bars, and the storm rolling in over the Blackwood Mountains had turned the winding road into a slick, unforgiving nightmare. But it was the sharp pang in her stomach-not hunger, not fear, but that *other* thing, the one she refused to name-that made her grip the steering wheel tighter.

*Breathe. Just breathe.*

The baby kicked, hard, as if reminding her: *You're not alone in this.*

Elara exhaled sharply, her breath fogging the windshield. She should've stayed in the city. Should've swallowed her pride and taken her sister's couch instead of driving blindly into the mountains like some tragic heroine in a gothic novel. But pride was all she had left after *him*-after the lies, the betrayal, the way he'd looked at her when she told him she was pregnant. Like she was nothing.

*Like she was prey.*

A flicker of movement in the rearview mirror.

Her pulse spiked.

Nothing but shadows and rain.

*Paranoid. You're being paranoid.*

Then-headlights. Two pinpricks of gold cutting through the storm. Too fast. Too close.

Elara's hands clenched around the wheel. "Okay, new plan," she muttered. "Find a place to pull over before some psycho rear-ends me into the afterlife."

The road curved sharply, and suddenly, there it was-a wrought-iron gate, half-hidden by ivy, the kind that belonged in a horror movie. But the sign beside it, elegantly engraved, read *VALE ESTATE. PRIVATE PROPERTY.*

A mansion. Shelter.

"Thank you, universe," she breathed, swerving onto the gravel drive.

The gate was open.

*Weird.*

But the contractions were coming faster now, and the car was sputtering like it might die any second. Elara didn't have a choice. She hit the gas.

The estate loomed ahead-a sprawling monstrosity of stone and glass, all sharp angles and old money, bathed in the eerie glow of the rising moon. No lights on inside. No cars. Just silence.

*Abandoned?*