Elara led him, not deeper into the house, but to a small, cluttered drawing-room off the main hall. Dust sheets covered most of the furniture, but a few pieces, a velvet armchair and a small side table, were uncovered, looking like islands in a grey sea. She lit a single oil lamp, its weak glow doing little to dispel the gloom.

"Sit," she ordered, her voice a little steadier now, though her hands still trembled slightly as she set the lamp down. She gestured to the armchair.

Liam sat, his gaze sweeping the room, taking in the faded wallpaper, the portraits with eyes that seemed to follow him, the palpable sense of history. "So," he began, "who's trying to scare you, Elara?"

She flinched at the use of her first name, a subtle tremor. "No one. It's... the house. It has a way of reacting." She walked over to a window, pulling back a heavy drape to reveal the grey afternoon light struggling to penetrate the grimy pane.

"Reacting by dropping chandeliers?" Liam raised an eyebrow. "That's a pretty aggressive form of reaction, even for a haunted house." He paused, letting the word hang in the air. "Is that what you believe? That it's haunted?"

Elara turned, her face a mask of weary resignation. "My family has always believed it. There are legends… whispers. They say the house holds the memories of... everything. And sometimes, those memories become agitated."

"Agitated enough to target a specific person, perhaps? The last heir who's just moved in?" Liam pressed gently. "You're living here alone, aren't you?"

She hesitated, then nodded. "Since my aunt passed. She was the last one. I... I felt it was my responsibility. To see what remained." Her voice softened on the last words, a hint of genuine loneliness creeping in. "But it's not a ghost, Mr. O'Connell. Not in the way you mean. It's... a lingering presence. An echo."

"An echo that knows how to swing a chandelier," Liam deadpanned. "Look, Elara, I've heard plenty of stories on my podcast. But a falling chandelier, right at the moment you're trying to turn away a nosy reporter… that's a little too convenient for a random 'echo.' It feels deliberate."

She hugged herself, her eyes darting nervously towards the hallway. "You think someone... came in? They're still here?"

"It's possible. Or someone knows your routines. Or they just have excellent timing," he said, pulling out his notebook and a pen. "Let's start simple. Have there been other 'accidents' since you moved in? Strange noises? Objects moving?"

Elara looked at him, truly looked at him, for the first time. The desperation was still there, but now mingled with a flicker of something new: curiosity, and perhaps a reluctant shred of hope. "My family... they called it the 'Blackwood Curse.' Things always went wrong here. Unexplained illnesses, disappearances..." She trailed off, her gaze distant.

"Like Evelyn," Liam prompted.

She nodded slowly. "Like Evelyn. But since I arrived... it's been more. The heating system randomly shuts off, but only in certain rooms. My phone battery drains impossibly fast, even when it's fully charged. And... the whispers. Not just in the air, but in my head. Sometimes, they sound like Evelyn." She shuddered.

Liam scribbled furiously. "Whispers in your head? Can you describe them? What do they say?"

"They're faint. Distorted. Names. Dates. Sometimes, just... a feeling of dread. Or urgency. Like I'm supposed to find something. Or stop something." She walked over to a dusty bookcase, running a finger along the spines of ancient tomes. "My aunt, she believed the house was trying to tell us something."

"Or someone is trying to use the family's 'belief' to manipulate you," Liam countered, his detective hat firmly on. "Someone who knows the Blackwood legends. Someone who wants you to believe it's the curse, not a flesh-and-blood threat." He paused, looking around the room. "Have you called the police about any of this?"

Elara scoffed, a humorless laugh. "The police? They already think my family is eccentric. They came here after Aunt passed, just a wellness check. They barely stayed five minutes. If I told them about whispers and falling chandeliers, they'd send me to a padded cell."

"Fair point," Liam conceded. "So, let's say, for a moment, that it's not a ghost. Let's say someone is actively messing with you. Who would benefit from you being scared out of this house? Or from you being... discredited?"

Elara turned from the bookcase, her eyes narrowed in thought. "No one. I'm the last of the direct line. There's nothing left but a crumbling house and a name synonymous with scandal. The estate is practically bankrupt. Why bother?"

"There's always a why," Liam murmured, more to himself than to her. "Hidden assets? A secret passage leading to something valuable? A reputation to protect or destroy?" He looked at her, then offered a small, disarming smile. "Look, you let me in. We're in this... situation, together, for now. You want answers, I want answers. Let's start with your family history. Who had a motive against Evelyn? Any old feuds, jealous relatives, disgruntled staff?"

Elara sighed, running a hand through her hair. "The family history is a long, winding, and often unpleasant road, Mr. O'Connell. You wouldn't believe the things that are hidden in these walls."

"Try me," Liam said, leaning forward. "That's my job."

She looked at him again, a hint of a wry smile finally touching her lips. "I suppose it is. Alright, podcaster. You want answers? You're going to earn them. This manor doesn't give up its secrets easily. And neither do I." She gestured towards a heavy, locked oak chest in the corner of the room. "Let's start with the Blackwood family archives. If you're looking for ghosts, you might just find something far more chilling."

A thrill, a mix of journalistic excitement and genuine intrigue, shot through Liam. This wasn't just a cold case anymore. This was a live investigation, with a reluctant but compelling partner, inside a house that seemed determined to keep its dark secrets. He pulled out his recorder. "Good. Let's start recording. Every creak, every whisper, every suspicion. From now on, you and I are partners, Elara. Whether you like it or not."

Elara's dry laugh, faint but genuine, filled the dusty air. "I suppose I don't have much choice, do I?"