Ethan sat on the edge of his mother’s bed, his back to the door, a posture that seemed normal enough. But the scene was far from ordinary. Mrs. Turner sat upright, speaking rapidly, her eyes wide and animated, a stark contrast to the frail, insomnia-ridden woman Grace had come to know. Her words flowed with a fervor that bordered on mania, each syllable heavy with urgency.

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Ethan’s head moved slightly, nodding at intervals, his responses barely audible. The room’s atmosphere felt charged with a tension Grace couldn’t quite place. Her heart hammered in her chest as she strained to catch snippets of their conversation, but the words were muffled, blended with the sound of the storm raging outside.

There was something in Mrs. Turner’s demeanor—something unsettling. Her hands clutched a small object, glinting in the dim light—an heirloom pocket watch, Grace realized, its gold surface catching the glow. With each swing of the watch in Mrs. Turner’s hands, Ethan seemed to sink deeper into a state of hypnosis, his responses mechanical and devoid of emotion.

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