Dyvern

Dyvern had been sharing Arthur's life for three years now.

For a long time, their relationship had seemed perfect. They laughed together, made plans for the future, and enjoyed every moment as if nothing could separate them.

However, for several weeks, something had changed.

Arthur had become distant. He came home later and later from work, answered her questions vaguely, and seemed constantly preoccupied. Conversations, once lighthearted, now turned into arguments over nothing. Each silence felt heavier than the last.

At first, Dyvern had tried to convince himself that he was simply going through a rough patch. But the repeated delays, the messages he answered in secret, and the increasingly unbelievable excuses eventually aroused his suspicions.

Little by little, doubt crept in.

She then began discreetly examining his conversations, comparing his work schedule with his comings and goings, and searching for the slightest inconsistency. The more she investigated, the more one question haunted her:

Was Arthur hiding something from her?

One evening, Dyvern finished her day earlier than expected. When she returned home, she expected to find a quiet house.

But no sooner had she closed the front door than a muffled noise from upstairs froze her in place.