They called it a second chance.
A quiet post by the sea. An old orphanage with no men on staff and no history of violence.
But Stonehart is not quiet. It breathes. Watches. Waits.
The children turn cold when asleep.
The doors only open when I bleed.
And the gargoyles on the roof change.
I came here to rebuild myself. But whatever lives in this place already knows who I am.
And it's not letting me leave.