10
When you step in through the front door of what was Eliot's house, you're not sure how to feel. It looks more or less the same as it did when you were here on Eliot's birthday, but it's quiet—and far too still.
The only movement as you pass through the living room comes from the dogs, who trot out of the kitchen to meet you. Marlowe greets them both with pets and then sets about getting them something to eat. You notice them glancing around uncertainly, as if expecting somebody else to walk in at any moment, but Marlowe manages to reassure them with a few more scratches behind the ears.
Standing in this house without an owner, you can only feel: