Round 5

In the dimly lit front sitting room, Jeane Cromwell stood tall, her slender frame radiating an aura of defiance as she grasped the heavy brass lamp base like a makeshift club. The rain drummed against the windows with relentless intensity, casting an eerie silence over the space. Her eyes narrowed, fixed on the narrow hallway leading to the kitchen, where the faint scent of dampness and decay clung to the air. The Force moved swiftly through the room, her hooded jacket billowing behind her like a dark cloud, as she cleared the space with practiced ease.

The Force's gaze swept the room, taking in the empty chair, the cold stone fireplace, and the iron poker leaning against the wall. Her eyes lingered on the brass lamp, its heavy base a potential weapon if needed, before shifting to the front door, locked and secure. The sound of the rain outside masked any movement inside, but The Force's senses were on high alert, her mind racing with possibilities as she navigated the familiar space.