Round 4

The house sat quiet in the woods, too still for how late it was. Rain tapped a steady rhythm on the roof while inside everything remained eerily motionless. In front of her, an upholstered chair faced the cold stone fireplace—empty save for the brass lamp with its heavy base resting on the side table beside it and house keys hanging from their hook. To her left, the dark hall stretched toward the kitchen where knives waited in drawers and a back door led onto the porch. Behind her, the stairwell rose into shadowed depths.

Jeane shifted in the chair facing the cold fireplace, fingers wrapping around the heavy brass lamp base as she felt the wrongness of the stillness pressing in. Rain tapped like warning code against the glass while something moved downstairs—definitely movement, too distinct to ignore. The back door? Kitchen? She couldn't see from here. Rising felt exposed, so instead she eased forward, angling to see past the newel post and down into shadows where nothing visible waited yet but where the stairwell yawned like a dark throat waiting to swallow someone.

The Force stood outside the house in the rain, pistol held ready as her other hand turned the doorknob with practiced precision. She could hear faint movement from inside—someone home, and apparently alone based on the lack of multiple voices or footsteps. She pressed her mask firmly against her face, preparing to make her next move while her mind cataloged every sound and potential threat.