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My room.

Christ.

I’d let her.

Worse.

I wanted her to.

I lowered my head and braced my hand on the edge of the desk. A crack of thunder rolled across the mountains. Closer this time. The windows rattled. I lifted my head. The estate answered with a groan.

Timber shifted somewhere above.

The lights buzzed.

Then steadied.

Rain hammered harder against the stone.

Not tapping anymore.

Assaulting.

The old house settled around it. A living thing enduring the beating.

I glanced toward the ceiling.

Toward her wing.

She hated storms.

The thought arrived uninvited. Immediate. Certain. I didn’t even know how I knew. Shadows moved in the corner of my eye. Brightening for a second before it was gone.

“Jesus.” I rubbed my eye.

Nothing but darkness.

And the lights hummed and buzzed once more.

In the hallway, the old Grandfather clock stuttered. Recovered. Continued ticking. The storm wasn’t passing. It was coming closer. I flicked off the coffee machine at the wall and then shut down the computer. I’d retreat to my room and wait it out.

It’d pass.

They always did.

Storms weren’t the problem.

It was the damage they left afterward.

I headed out, walking down the hall. My steps not missing a beat… until I crossed the foyer once more.

Then they stuttered.

But I kept going, heading to my bedroom. When I reached for the door I stopped.

She might be scared.

Too scared to come to me.