2025-08-26 16:41:12The house was trying to tell her something.
Lana knew that now. It wasn’t just shadows and strange dreams. It wasn’t even the ghostly girls in the mirror or the lullabies echoing through her bones. It was deeper than that. Intentional. And it wanted her to remember. By noon, she could no longer stay in the sitting room. Every tick of the grandfather clock felt like a countdown, and the walls — polished and quiet — seemed to lean closer with every passing hour. She needed air. Lana slipped out, careful not to make a sound. No sign of Miss Ward. No servants in the halls. Just silence, still and listening. She didn’t know where she was going, only that her feet led her there — back toward the older part of the estate. The one Grey had told her nothing about. The corridor was colder here. Unlived-in. She paused beside a narrow hallway framed in carved oak. The wallpaper was peeling, the floorboards scuffed from age. A single cracked painting hung on the wall — two children playing near a pond. One of them bore her face. Again. Lana stepped inside. Dust stirred around her ankles, kicked up by her movement. The door at the end of the hallway looked warped, its brass knob rusted. She tried it. Locked. Of course. But just as she turned to leave, she heard it. A creak — subtle but deliberate — beneath her feet. She crouched and ran her fingers along the floor. One board was looser than the rest. Her heart thudded. Prying it free wasn’t easy. Her nails chipped against the wood, and she had to use a hairpin from her pocket to wedge the edge. But eventually, with a groan of splintered resistance, the board lifted. Inside the hollow space was a velvet pouch. And inside the pouch—paper. A letter, yellowed with age, its seal half-broken. No envelope. Just a folded sheet with a jagged edge, as if it had been torn from a larger book. She unfolded it carefully. To whoever finds this — They lied. About the fire. About the twins. About what happened to her. They said she died. She didn’t. They took her. If you’re reading this, you’re already part of the story. Be careful who you trust. The uncle knows. The house remembers. And she is waking up. There was no signature. Just a symbol at the bottom of the page. Two roses. One dark. One light. Twined around a dagger. Lana stared at it, pulse pounding. Suddenly, the hallway creaked again. Not beneath her. Behind her. She stood quickly, shoving the letter into her coat. The door at the end of the hall— It was open. Just a crack. Someone had unlocked it. “Hello?” she called, her voice small in the silence. No answer. She stepped toward it cautiously, fingers grazing the wall for balance. Beyond the door was a narrow staircase, leading downward. Cold air rushed up from below — damp, earthy, old. A basement? She hesitated. Every part of her screamed to go back. But something else — something deep and wordless — urged her to go forward. She took the first step. The stairs groaned under her weight, each one older than the last. The walls closed in as she descended, and the light faded fast. She reached the bottom. And found herself in a cellar carved from stone. Not the wine kind — no racks, no bottles. This was something older. More primitive. The walls were lined with iron hooks. A single cot sat against the far wall, its frame rusted, mattress torn. Chains. Shackles. Scratches on the stone. Like someone had been held here. Or many. Lana’s breath caught. She turned to leave—and froze. A figure stood at the top of the stairs. Not Grey. Not Miss Ward. She couldn’t see a face. Just the silhouette of a man. Tall. Broad-shouldered. The light behind him cast his shadow down the stairs like a curtain. And then, he stepped away—disappearing from view. “Wait—” Lana shouted, rushing up the steps. But by the time she reached the top, the door had slammed shut. Locked. She was trapped.
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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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