Aron Mansion
Ray sat at the dining table, absently twirling his fork through the salad, his mind lost in idle thoughts. The chandelier overhead cast a warm glow over the polished table, the air filled with the soft clinking of silverware. Everything was normal—until it wasn't.
A sharp, searing pain clawed through his chest, like invisible fingers squeezing his heart with merciless force. The fork in his hand slipped, clattering against the plate, but he barely registered the sound. His breath caught. His eyes widened. This feeling—it was the same. The same unbearable agony that had gripped him all those years ago. The day they thought Esme had died.
Ray's head snapped up, his pulse pounding in his ears. Across the table, his brothers sat frozen, their faces mirroring his own horror. Each of them clutched their chests, their breaths ragged. They knew. They all knew.
