The Empty Mansion
The gates of the Delcourt residence opened with their usual mechanical precision. The mansion greeted him in silence — too much silence.
He expected the faint hum of cleaning, the soft scent of polish in the air. Instead, there was only stillness pressing down on every marble wall.
Then he heard it — faintly, distantly — laughter.
Children’s laughter.
Marc frowned. There hadn’t been children in his house for years. Not since his daughter left for London.
He followed the sound down the long corridor toward the living room, each step echoing on the cold stone floor.
