The cold night air prickled with death's breath as Ludwig approached the gate, his footsteps soft but deliberate on the cracked, weed-infested stones of the manor's front corridor. The flickering remnants of moonlight filtered through the ruined ceiling, casting eerie shadows that danced over the dust-choked floor.
Before he could reach the threshold, a blur of ghostly light flickered into form directly in front of him—Thomas, spectral as ever, phasing into view with urgency written across his translucent features. He floated mere inches from Ludwig's face, and though the undead didn't feel breath, there was something about Thomas's wide-eyed stare that suggested a man mid-exhale.
"Wait!" Thomas barked, his voice cracking through the silence like a whip.
Ludwig blinked slowly. "What is it?" he asked, not stopping, only tilting his head slightly with a brow raised.
