Where the Dead Keep Watch

Previously

…And now, so were the Vances. The spectral duty, the eternal vigil, was not a curse inflicted upon the dead, but a task they were forced to perform, a task that had now fallen to the living. The locket, she understood with a chilling certainty, was not merely a relic; it was a key. And the woman in the portrait, her ancestor, had perhaps been the last to truly understand what that key unlocked. The Watcher remained, a silent, imposing figure, its gaze fixed on Eleanor, a silent acknowledgement of her discovery, a silent warning of the path she had just stepped onto. The cemetery’s secrets were starting to unravel, and Eleanor Vance was now inextricably bound to them.