C50 The House That Should Not Be

Greyspire’s dawn broke behind a veil of pale mist.

Evelyne stood on the high balcony of the keep, a scroll clenched in one hand. It had been tucked deep within the last tier of the records chest, sealed beneath a false panel and bound in black twine. Its parchment was thinner than the others, its ink sharper, freshly faded—as though it had been rewritten and hidden more than once