2025-08-26 16:40:13Morning sunlight didn’t quite reach the east wing.
The curtains had been drawn open, and the windows faced a perfect view of the garden hedge maze beyond the estate—but still, everything in Lana’s room felt dim. The light didn’t settle. It hovered, uncertain. Much like her thoughts. She had hardly slept. Dreams had come in waves—children laughing in rooms she didn’t recognize, lullabies echoing off stone walls, and firelight flashing across a man’s face she couldn’t place. Grey’s words replayed on a loop. They’ve erased everything. Only together will they remember. She’d almost told him about the second girl in the mirror. The one who looked like her. But something stopped her. Fear, maybe. Or the growing suspicion that everything she remembered had been edited. The sound of footsteps outside her door snapped her from her thoughts. A knock. Sharp. Measured. Lana slipped out of bed and opened it cautiously. A woman stood in the hallway—a vision of poise. Early forties, maybe. Iron-gray hair swept into a bun. Perfect posture. Crisp black-and-white uniform without a single wrinkle. She offered a tight-lipped smile. “Miss Rey. Forgive the intrusion. Breakfast is ready, and Mr. Thompson asked me to personally see to your comfort this morning.” Lana hesitated. “You’re…?” “Miss Evangeline Ward,” the woman said. “Housekeeper. I run the interior of the estate.” “You weren’t here yesterday.” “No,” she said simply. “I arrived late last night.” Her eyes didn’t blink enough. Lana noticed that instantly. “Follow me,” Miss Ward said, already turning down the hall. Lana had no choice but to obey. As they walked through the corridor, Lana’s gaze lingered on the framed paintings—portraits of unfamiliar ancestors. All proud, cold eyes and tight collars. They all looked like they’d kept too many secrets. Miss Ward walked in silence. No unnecessary chatter. No glance over the shoulder to check if Lana was following. Just steady clicks of her heels across the marble. “You’ve lived here long?” Lana asked, if only to fill the silence. “I’ve served the Thompson family for eighteen years,” she replied without turning. “Long enough to know the rhythm of this house. When it breathes. When it holds its breath.” That choice of words made Lana uneasy. They turned into a sitting room—modest by estate standards, but still grand. A table set for two. Fine china. A silver dome covering warm dishes. “You may wait here,” Miss Ward said. “Mr. Thompson will join you shortly.” But she didn’t leave. She lingered in the doorway, eyes scanning the shelves like she was taking inventory of things that weren’t hers. Lana cleared her throat. “You said you arrived late last night. Did you see anything… unusual?” A slight twitch at the corner of the housekeeper’s mouth. Almost a smirk. “The estate is old,” she said. “Old places hold echoes. Most of them harmless.” “That wasn’t an answer.” “I’ve learned that questions can be more dangerous than answers, Miss Rey. Especially in this house.” Lana frowned. “Why would a housekeeper care what I ask?” Miss Ward finally looked at her then. Her eyes were the color of overcast skies. “I care,” she said softly, “because not every girl who walks into this estate walks out again.” Silence. Heavy. Unwelcome. Then she smiled. Too smoothly. “I’m sure you’ll be just fine, though,” she added, as if that erased what had just been said. Before Lana could speak again, Miss Ward stepped back into the hall and closed the door. Lana stood frozen. The silence in the room didn’t feel natural. It felt arranged. Her eyes flicked to the bookshelves. She wandered closer. Rows of leather-bound volumes lined the shelves, all dusted, none disturbed. All except one—a slim book with no title, its spine cracked and faded. She pulled it out. It was blank. At first. Then, as she flipped toward the middle, ink began to bleed through the page. As if the words were only now appearing. She watches through mirrors. She waits behind doors. She never left. Lana dropped the book. The air in the room shifted. The fireplace hissed softly—no flame. Just the sound of coals breathing. The silver dome on the breakfast tray began to tremble slightly. A subtle, rhythmic clink. Lana stepped forward and slowly lifted the cover. Nothing inside. Just an envelope. Cream paper. Gold seal. Her name written across the front in the same handwriting she had seen on the mirror. Lana. She reached for it, fingers trembling—when the door behind her creaked open. She turned sharply—expecting Grey. But it was Miss Ward again. Expression unchanged. “You haven’t touched your food,” she said mildly. “There’s an envelope here,” Lana said. “With my name. Who—” But when she turned back, the tray was empty again. No dome. No envelope. Just a single spoon resting neatly on the napkin, like it had always been that way. Miss Ward’s smile didn’t falter. “I think perhaps,” she said, “you’re still adjusting to the house.” “I’m not hallucinating.” “No,” said Miss Ward. “You’re remembering.” She stepped back. “And that,” she added with a cold sweetness, “is far more dangerous.” The door closed again behind her. And this time, Lana locked it.
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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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