Dawn broke over the city.

Mason drove back to Lockwood Manor. The security guard was dumbfounded when he opened the gate and saw his car. After all, Mason hadn’t been back there for three years. Moments later, the black Bentley pulled into the premises.

He got out of the car and closed the door before sweeping his eyes across the manor.

The place had been deprived of its masters and mistresses for far too long and had lost its former warming sensation. Instead, a lifelessness surrounded the manor now. It was depressingly ironic, considering Barbara had loved making the place lively when she was still around.

The servants hadn’t woken up yet.

Walking into the living room, his leather shoes stepped on the unblemished floor and made a crisp tapping sound that reverberated in the room, further accentuating its emptiness.

Barbara’s portrait could be found on the home altar, smiling affectionately.

Running his fingers across her picture longingly, he murmured, “Westley’s back. He