POV: Lucien
Lucien didn't think he could be more obsessed, but the deeper he dug, the more he found. There were no records. No blueprints. No official documents. Nothing that could explain the house's existence.
It shouldn't have mattered.
But the feeling—that something wasn't just lost but intentionally hidden—kept gnawing at him. Something didn't add up.
The old man had mentioned a reason the house was forgotten, but didn't elaborate. That was a lie Lucien couldn't shake. He had to find out why. Why would a place be erased so thoroughly from history? What did it hold that was so dangerous?
The flower from the field—the one he'd found—wasn't an accident. He could feel it now, that lingering connection between the place and whatever this was. It was something more than just a structure. More than stone or wood. There was a weight to it.
So Lucien kept going. Searching through maps, newspapers, any scrap of mention.
But even when he came across a breakthrough—a name buried in an old ledger—he found himself standing in the same place: in front of the empty field, staring at nothing.
A mystery that wouldn't give itself up.
He rubbed his temples, frustration seeping into his muscles. And then, in the midst of his growing obsession, something else prickled in his mind.
That same feeling from before—the one he couldn't shake. The feeling of being watched. Of something watching him, even when he was alone.
Lucien shoved the thought aside. He needed answers. He had to find them.
He couldn't afford to think about anything else now.
The house was waiting.