2025-08-26 16:39:26Grey hadn’t been to the west wing in years.
Even as a boy, before the memories blurred and the guardians tightened their grip on what he was allowed to see, that part of the estate had been off-limits. The doors were always locked. The windows sealed. And the halls beyond were said to be unsafe—too fragile, too old. Lies. All of it. Now, walking past the faded portraits and tarnished sconces, he could feel something shift. Not physically. Emotionally. Like the walls themselves were watching. The key in his pocket was cold. Too cold for brass. He pulled it free and studied it under the faint moonlight filtering through a high, dust-covered window. Old. Iron. Hand-cut teeth. Not the kind of key you gave to staff. He paused outside the final door. Carved mahogany. Faded crest at the top—one he hadn’t seen since childhood. Two roses. Twined around a sword. He didn’t remember what it meant. But something in his chest twisted. Grey turned the key. The lock clicked open with a soft, reluctant groan. The air beyond was stale. Undisturbed. He stepped inside and flicked on the wall sconce. Dim yellow light hummed to life. And there it was. A nursery. Not pristine. Not ruined. Just… frozen. Two small beds sat side by side, identical in shape but painted different colors—one pale blue, the other soft rose. A wooden chest sat between them, its lid closed and dusty. A shelf of faded books leaned unevenly along the back wall. And above it all, a mobile still hung from the ceiling, motionless despite the slight draft curling through the open door. Grey’s throat tightened. He stepped further inside and ran a hand over the closest bedpost. It creaked faintly under his fingers. No cobwebs. No animal droppings. The room had been maintained. Preserved. But by who? He moved toward the chest and knelt beside it. Inside were fragments of another life. A doll’s head. A toy plane. A music box with a cracked lid. He picked it up, turned the key, and let it play. A haunting melody danced from its gears. One he’d heard only in dreams. The same song Lana had quoted the night before. Alana Rose and Grey at play… Hide and seek and run away… His hand froze over the music box. So it wasn’t just a dream. It had been real. They’d played here. Laughed here. Before everything changed. A thud behind him made him jolt. He turned—nothing there. Just the door creaking slightly from the draft. He stood and closed the lid on the toy chest. Then he noticed something tucked beneath one of the pillows on the rose-colored bed. A small book. Leather-bound. Worn edges. He picked it up and flipped it open. Handwriting filled the pages—looped, feminine, hurried in places. A diary. Dated entries. The first line: They’ll come for her tomorrow. They promised I’d keep one, but now they want both. His blood chilled. He flipped to the next page. I marked the boy’s file. I switched the tags. If they only take one, let it be him. She deserves a chance to grow free of all this. They won’t check the blood twice. They never do. The ink blurred there, like the page had been touched while wet. Grey sat heavily on the bed. He didn’t recognize the handwriting. It wasn’t his mother’s—or the woman he thought had been his mother. This was someone else. A guardian? A nursemaid? A sister? The diary went on for a few more pages—most of them vague, talking about watching from windows, overhearing arguments behind closed doors, “the twins” being too close, too bound. One line stood out: If they ever remember each other, everything we’ve built will burn. Grey closed the book. He rose, stepping back toward the door—but something caught his eye in the cracked mirror beside the bookshelf. A word. Written in the dust. “Run.” He blinked. It wasn’t there a second ago. A voice echoed behind him—his own, from memory. We have to go now, Alana. Before they come back. But no one was in the room. Just the silence. And the steady pulse rising in his ears. He turned and left the nursery, locking the door behind him, tucking the key and the diary deep into his coat. Whatever this estate was hiding— It had just taken its first breath.
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Chapter Nineteen : The House That Shouldn’t Breathe
The morning came with a sky the color of pewter. The air was heavy, not with rain, but with the strange kind of stillness that makes the world feel as though it’s holding its breath.Lana stood at the edge of the gravel drive, the estate behind her, a small travel satchel clutched in one hand. Grey was already at the motorcar, inspecting the straps that held their supplies. His movements were deliberate, his expression unreadable.“You’re sure we can’t wait another day?” she asked, pulling her coat tighter against the chill.His glance was brief but decisive. “Every day we wait is another day someone else might find what we’re looking for.”She almost said, And another day I could pretend this wasn’t happening. But instead, she stepped into the passenger seat.The road to Willowmarch was long and uneven, flanked by thick woods that grew denser the farther they drove. The bare branches seemed to claw at the sky, and every now and then the shadow of a crow passed over the windshield.“H
Chapter Eighteen – Shadows in the Silver
The rain had stopped by evening, leaving the Thompson estate wrapped in a damp hush. The air smelled faintly of moss and wet stone, and the last of the storm clouds dragged themselves away across a bruised sky. In the library, firelight cast a low amber glow over the walls, where the leather-bound books stood in regimented silence.Lana sat on the edge of the chaise, her knees drawn slightly together, fingers curled around the delicate stem of a wineglass she’d barely touched. Across from her, Grey leaned against the mantel, the flames painting his profile in shifting light. Between them, resting on the low table, lay the locket.She hadn’t expected him to bring it out again. Since finding it that morning, he had kept it close, as though the small tarnished thing could burn him if left unattended.“It’s old,” she said softly, almost to herself. “Older than you, older than me… but it feels alive somehow.”Grey’s gaze didn’t leave the locket. “It was my mother’s. She never spoke much ab
Chapter Seventeen : Shadows Between Us
The rain had passed in the night, leaving the Thompson estate washed in a pale, reluctant dawn. Mist curled low over the lawns, clinging to the edges of the hedgerows like it feared to let go. Somewhere beyond the eastern wing, the river whispered faintly, its steady rhythm a contrast to the taut silence between them.Lana had been up before sunrise. She told herself it was the damp air that kept her from sleeping, but in truth, it was the weight of unspoken thoughts. The locket, and what it might mean, still pulsed at the edges of her mind — but she had resolved not to think about it. Not now. Not yet. She needed a day where the past didn’t have its claws in her.Grey was already in the breakfast room when she arrived, his posture sharp even in casual clothes. A silver coffee pot steamed on the table between them. He didn’t look up immediately; instead, he tapped the edge of his cup, the sound precise, deliberate.“You were awake early,” she said, settling opposite him.His gaze flic
Chapter Sixteen – Echoes in the Stillness
The first light of morning spilled through the heavy velvet curtains, a pale gold that softened the cold edges of the Thompson estate. Outside, the grounds were still slick with last night’s rain, the air sharp and clean, as though the storm had scoured away every trace of dust and sound.Lana stood by the tall window, her hands cupped around the porcelain warmth of her tea. She could still smell the faint trace of woodsmoke on her clothes from the cabin — that single, flickering fire they had kept through the long hours of thunder and wind. It was strange, how quickly the world could change. One night of isolation, of whispered words and careful silences, and now they were back inside walls lined with chandeliers and old oil paintings that seemed to watch her every move.She heard the faint creak of the door behind her and didn’t need to turn to know it was Grey. There was something distinct about his presence — not just the sound of his footsteps, but the way the air seemed to tight
Chapter Fifteen: Storms
The storm had only deepened through the night. Rain lashed against the warped cabin walls in relentless sheets, each gust of wind making the timbers groan. Inside, the air smelled faintly of damp wood and smoke from the struggling fire in the small stone hearth.Lana sat on the low bench beside it, rubbing her chilled hands together. Her damp skirt clung to her knees, the hem heavy from the downpour. Grey stood near the doorway, his shoulders filling the space as he looked out into the blackness beyond the warped frame. The light from the hearth cast his profile in bronze and shadow.“You’re shivering,” he said, his voice low but cutting through the storm.“I’m fine,” she lied, though her fingers trembled.He crossed the small room, the floorboards creaking under his weight, and shrugged off his heavy coat. “You’ll wear this,” he said, draping it over her shoulders before she could protest. It was warm, smelling faintly of cedar and something darker—him. She swallowed hard, feeling th
Chapter Fourteen: The Letter
The name hit Grey like a blow to the ribs.His mother had been dead for over a decade. He’d stood over her casket, felt the cold finality of the moment. So either this was an elaborate game, or someone had just detonated the past in his face.The man didn’t wait for an invitation. He stepped inside, closing the door softly behind him as if he already belonged in the room. His shoes didn’t even squeak on the marble — expensive leather, broken in. Everything about him spoke of precision.“I was told,” the man said, “to deliver this directly into your hands. And to tell you — you’d know the truth when you read it.”Grey took the envelope but didn’t open it. His eyes stayed locked on the man. “And who told you that?”“I already answered that.” The stranger’s gaze flicked briefly toward Lana. “I wasn’t informed you’d have company.”Lana didn’t move from the doorway, but the weight of his look pressed on her like a hand on the back of her neck.“Maybe you should tell us your name,” she said
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