But as he walked to his bedroom, he could have sworn he heard something faint from the living room. Not the theme music.

The woman reached up and lowered her hood. Leo leaned closer. The face was familiar but wrong. It was Catelyn Stark, but her eyes were not eyes—they were pools of black water. And she smiled.

He’d cleared his Friday night. No calls, no texts, a pot of chili on the stove, and a six-pack of Dornish-style ale (okay, it was just local craft beer, but he’d printed a fake label). He popped in Disc One, and the familiar, percussive theme music thundered through his speakers. For a moment, he was home.