Where the Cracks Begin

Previously

…The air grew colder, the silence of Blackwood Creek more profound. He looked up at the silhouette of the asylum, a dark, brooding presence against the bruised twilight sky. It was no longer a place of spectral horror, but a monument to human cruelty, a graveyard of secrets waiting to be unearthed. And he knew, with a chilling certainty, that the shadows within its walls held the answers he sought, and that confronting them would mean confronting the darkest parts of himself. The ghosts of Blackwood Creek were real, but they were not supernatural. They were the echoes of human suffering, and the chilling legacy of those who sought to control and erase it.