I forced a laugh, though my pulse betrayed my unease. "Curses? You’re joking, right?"
"Am I?" His storm-gray eyes glinted, the faintest smirk curving his lips. "This house carries secrets you wouldn’t understand."
A chill crept down my spine. The air seemed colder here, as though the walls themselves exhaled whispers of long-buried sins.
"Enough with the theatrics," I snapped, masking my discomfort with irritation. "If you have something to say, just say it."
He took a deliberate step closer, his presence oppressive, magnetic. "Stay out of the west wing," he said softly, his tone laced with warning.
"The west wing? Are you serious?" I scoffed, crossing my arms. "What’s in there? Another one of your childish traps?"
His smirk vanished. For the first time, I saw something unguarded in his expression—something that looked a lot like fear.
"You’re not ready for what’s in there," he murmured.
His words sent a shiver through me, though I refused to let him see it. Instead, I tilted my chin, defiance curling my lips. "Maybe you’re the one who’s not ready for me to find out."