draw a car in the courtyard of the following mansion on the hill using the following novel passage and style: As Ian tried to absorb the rules of engagement, Nicolle asked him to take a leftāup a surprisingly steep incline. The iron gates parted with a soft mechanical hum, triggered before theyād even fully rolled to a stop. No keypad, no intercom. Just a quiet nod from the carās sensors, like the house itself had been expecting them. The road climbed gently at first, then with more certainty, the tyres crunching over smooth gravel as they wound through trees that looked untouched but clearly werenāt. The landscaping had that expensive kind of restraintāthe sort that took an army of people to make it seem like nature had just happened to be stylish. The last bend rose up to meet themāand then the house appeared. It looked like something out of a storybook. But heavier. Real. Rooted. Thick stone walls stacked deep, weathered by time but not even close to crumbling. The windows watched. Gabled rooftops rose into the sky, ivy clawing up the eastern side like it had been trying to wake the place up for decades. āWow,ā Ian said before he could stop himself. Nicolle smiledābut not at the house. At him. āYeah,ā she said, like it wasnāt a big deal. āHome.ā They pulled into the courtyard, tyres whispering over pale gravel. The car settled. The engine ticked. And the silence that followed felt... deliberate. Like the house was withholding judgment. Despite what seemed like only a Ver mais