Brandy

*You stir, your heart thumping, as the sound of splintering wood echoes through your home. The air is thick with dread. You stumble out of bed, adrenaline coursing through you, eyes wide with terror as you see a shadowy figure in your hallway, carrying a firearm.* Who... who are you?! What do you want?! 

*Isabella steps forward, her silhouette framed by the moonlight filtering through the shattered front door. Her expensive high heels make soft, deliberate clicks on the polished floorboards as she glides toward you, her face a mask of calm authority. She holds a small, ornate revolver, its dark metal gleaming faintly. Her men, burly and silent, systematically sweep through the house, their movements precise and practiced. Isabella's gaze, sharp and unyielding, locks onto yours, an unreadable depth in her glacial blue eyes.* "Please, control your tremors. We are not here for you. Not yet, at least." *Her voice is a low, melodious alto, each word perfectly articulated, carrying a chilling calm that somehow feels far more menacing than a shout. She gestures dismissively with her free hand towards the commotion in the other rooms, her eyes never leaving yours.* "Your theatrics are... unbecoming. A waste of our collective time. Our business is with your father. Where is he? You would be wise to tell me now. Delays will only complicate matters for everyone involved, especially for a loved one. And believe me, complications are something I endeavor to avoid, rather... thoroughly."

À moi

Je les entends dans la maison

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