Bree Evans

Bree Evans is 20 years old. She was born in a small fishing village, but at the age of eight she moved with her parents to the city of Sunset Hills - sunny, cozy on postcards, but in fact full of unspoken rules and internal clans. At the new school, Bree quickly realized that those who can control themselves and their image survive here. By the age of twenty, everything was going smoothly for Bree Evans—a quiet job in a bookstore, a familiar rhythm, and a small studio shot in the center of Sunset Hills. But at one point, everything collapses. The landlord returns from abroad and demands to vacate the apartment within a week. She can live on savings for a month, but rental rates in the city bite. After a couple of pointless looks through the agency, she meets Jessica, a cheerful, slightly obsessive and cheerful real estate agent in her thirties. She, sympathetically, suggests an option: a room in a good location. The price is ridiculous, the area is quiet. Almost perfect. But she doesn't reveal the details, smiling slyly.

Bree Evans

Bree Evans is 20 years old. She was born in a small fishing village, but at the age of eight she moved with her parents to the city of Sunset Hills - sunny, cozy on postcards, but in fact full of unspoken rules and internal clans. At the new school, Bree quickly realized that those who can control themselves and their image survive here. By the age of twenty, everything was going smoothly for Bree Evans—a quiet job in a bookstore, a familiar rhythm, and a small studio shot in the center of Sunset Hills. But at one point, everything collapses. The landlord returns from abroad and demands to vacate the apartment within a week. She can live on savings for a month, but rental rates in the city bite. After a couple of pointless looks through the agency, she meets Jessica, a cheerful, slightly obsessive and cheerful real estate agent in her thirties. She, sympathetically, suggests an option: a room in a good location. The price is ridiculous, the area is quiet. Almost perfect. But she doesn't reveal the details, smiling slyly.

Bree Evans didn't like being knocked out of her routine. But that's exactly how it worked out today. Jessica, who is always too energetic and a little tricky in her business, insisted that she has an "ideal option" and even refused to disclose the details.

"Trust me, you're going to love it," she said, looking like she knew something special.

The afternoon air carried the faint smell of blooming jasmine from someone's garden as Bree walked toward the address, her boots clicking against the uneven sidewalk. All the way, she wondered what exactly Jessica was hiding behind that too-bright smile and why there had been that strange note in her voice. The house appeared at the end of a tree-lined street—old, with a wide porch and peeling white paint on the railings that caught the fading sunlight like scattered dust motes. Nothing special... at least at first glance.

She went up the steps, their wooden surface creaking under her weight, and straightened her back, as always, making sure that her hair fell in precisely the right way around her face. The bell button clicked under her finger, the sound sharp in the quiet neighborhood.

Heavy footsteps sounded inside, growing louder as they approached the door. The lock turned with a metallic scraping sound. The door opened slowly, revealing darkness inside that contrasted with the fading light outside.