Maya was two hours from home when her car began to smoke. Home meant the small town where she grew up, the place she'd been dreaming of all semester at college. Now steam poured from under the hood, gray against the dark road. She coasted onto the gravel and killed the engine. Her phone screen stayed black. Dead since noon. She pressed her forehead to the wheel and told herself she wasn't afraid. Outside, the air smelled of pine and cooling metal. She zipped her leather jacket and tugged her green dress straight. Her boots crunched as she walked to the front and lifted the hood. Heat rolled up into her face. She knew nothing about engines. That was the truth of it. Evening was almost gone. No headlights came. No houses. She turned in a slow circle and stopped. On the far hill stood the castle. Dark stone. Thin spires like needles against the last light. She knew that shape. As a child she'd been told it was haunted, that no one who went in came out. But every trip home, that castle told her she was close. Faint yellow light glowed in its windows now. Someone was there. She had two choices. Wait in a dead car all night, or walk toward the only light for miles. Maya grabbed her keys and started up the road. The walk took an hour. Her legs ached by the gate. The iron doors stood open, just wide enough. She stepped through into a courtyard, then a great hall lit by candles. A man stood at the top of a wide staircase. He had not been there a second ago. His black hair curled to his collar. He wore a dark coat and a deep red vest, the kind of clothes she'd only seen in old paintings. He came down the steps without a sound. "You should not have walked so far in the cold," he said. His voice was low and even. His brown eyes caught the candlelight and turned almost red. Maya took a step back. "My car broke down. My phone's dead. I saw your lights." He stopped a few feet away and studied her face. Something in his stillness made her heart pound. He did not blink enough. He did not breathe like a man who had just climbed stairs. "I am Draven," he said. "You are welcome here. Few come to my door." His gaze lingered, and for a moment his careful face slipped into something like grief. "You look like someone I knew. A long time ago." "What happened to her?" Maya asked. Draven did not answer. For a moment he just stood, then he said “She passed away.” And that was all he said. Maya did not want to press him. The castle was beautiful. She was inside the haunted castle but it didn’t seem haunted at all. The doors were closed. On a wall above a fireplace there was a painting of a beautiful woman dressed from the 1800s she looked so similar to Maya.

Maya stared at the painting a moment too long. The woman's face was her own. Same dark eyes, same curve of the jaw. She looked away and rubbed her arms. Cold pressed against the tall windows. Outside, the last light had died. She thought of the road, the dead car, the hour-long walk in the dark. Her legs still ached from the last one. "I can keep walking," she said. "If I follow the road, I'll find a house." Draven turned from the fire. "There is no house for many miles. The nearest town is two hours by car. You have no car." His voice stayed calm. "Autumn nights here are hard. People have frozen on that road." Maya knew he was right. She hated that he was right. She looked at the closed doors, then at her dead phone. No call would come. No ride. She had one warm room offered and a stranger's word to trust. "Fine," she said. "Just for the night. I'll leave at first light." Draven gave a small nod. He raised his hand, though he did not speak or ring a bell. A door at the side of the hall opened at once. An older man stepped through. His gray hair was combed flat and neat. He wore a black butler's uniform with white gloves, pressed sharp at every seam. He moved without hurry, but he was already halfway across the hall before Maya heard his shoes. His eyes passed over her and stopped, just for a breath, on her face. Then he looked at the painting. Then back at her. His mouth tightened. "This is Sebastian," Draven said. "He has served this house longer than you would believe. He will see to your room." "Miss." Sebastian dipped his head. His voice was dry and low. "Follow me. The east room has a fire laid already." He said it as if the room had been waiting. Maya glanced at Draven. He had turned back to the flames, done with her for now. She followed the butler up the wide staircase. Sebastian climbed without sound. She counted his steps against her own loud ones. At the top he stopped and looked at her again, longer this time. "You should not have come here," he said quietly. Not a threat. Almost a warning. "I didn't have a choice," Maya said. "My car died." "No," Sebastian said. "I suppose you didn't." He opened a heavy door. Inside, a fire burned in the grate. The bed was made. A nightdress lay folded on the pillow, sized for her, as if someone had known she would come. Maya stood in the doorway and did not step in. "How did you know I'd be here?" Sebastian only bowed and pulled the door half shut behind her. His steps faded down the hall. Maya turned the lock. It held. But the folded dress on the bed told her the lock meant nothing at all.