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The tension inside the Grayson residence reached a fever pitch as the heavy oak doors of Martha’s room swung open. The air inside was still, smelling faintly of old wood and the clean, sterile scent of freshly laundered linens.

"She's here, she's here," Martha comforted the weeping Matriarch. "I'll take you to her, but..."

But... Martha swallowed the rest of her sentence