“Claire, you look lost.”

The voice slithered through the dark hallway like a phantom. I froze mid-step, my hand just inches from the boy’s bedroom door. I turned slowly, trying not to show the ice creeping down my spine.

Elena stood at the far end, her silhouette carved against the soft golden light again. Her arms crossed. Her lips curled into something that wasn’t quite a smile.

“Just checking on him.”

My voice felt too loud, the lie staining the air like ink. She didn’t move, didn’t blink—just stood there watching. Studying.

“You’re devoted,” she murmured finally. “How sweet.”

There was no warmth in her tone—just that blade-edged amusement she wore like armor. My fingers curled tighter around the lamp, hidden against my side. Its weight grounded me.

I forced a smile. Small. Obedient. Play along, Claire.

“It’s my job,” I replied softly.

Her head tilted, the light catching the sharp angles of her face.

“Tell me something, Claire.”

She took a step forward. I didn’t dare move, though every muscle screamed at me to back away. Her heels clicked once, twice, like a metronome marking a countdown.

“Do you believe in ghosts?”

My heart jumped, knocking against my ribs like a fist. I blinked once, schooling my expression into something neutral.

“No.”

The word left my mouth quickly. Too quickly. Elena’s smile widened, and the chill behind her eyes deepened.

Another step closer.

“Interesting,” she purred. “Then I wonder… who were you talking to?”

My blood ran cold.

I swallowed. Hard.

“What?”

Her eyes glinted, two shards of glass cutting through the dim.

“A voice. You were speaking.”

The accusation slithered out, wrapping around my throat. I shook my head, mustering a small laugh that scraped against my teeth.

“You must’ve misheard.”

Elena said nothing. She let the silence stretch, pressing down on me like the weight of a thousand secrets.

Then she moved closer—close enough that I could see the faint shimmer of powder dusted over her flawless skin. She smelled like roses. Like something dying slowly in the sun.

“You look so familiar,” she whispered.

Her words clung to the air, suffocating it. I felt my pulse stutter. My skin prickled as if her gaze were peeling it back layer by layer.

I tried to speak. To breathe. But my voice wouldn’t come. I felt her eyes dig deeper, searching.

Searching for me.

“I get that a lot,” I managed, my throat raw. “Must be one of those faces.”

Elena didn’t blink. Her lips parted slightly, but no sound came. Her gaze flicked downward—to the lamp in my hand—before lifting again, colder. Sharper.

“Perhaps.”

She stepped back finally, her presence leaving the air brittle in her wake. I stayed rooted in place as she glided past me, her perfume clawing at my lungs.

I didn’t dare turn my head to watch her disappear down the hallway. Not until her steps faded into nothingness.

I let out a shaky breath. The lamp slipped from my grip, landing softly against the carpeted floor. My knees wanted to buckle.

She knows.

A tremor ran through me, head to toe. I turned back to the boy’s door and cracked it open. He was still there, curled beneath the blankets, his small breaths steady. For now, he was safe.

I lingered at the threshold, my thoughts a storm, my body trembling.

That door—the locked one—lingered in my mind’s eye like a dark stain. I had to get inside. I had to know.

But Elena…

Elena was watching.

And she wouldn’t stop until she knew who I really was.

“Claire, are you up there?”

My breath hitched. Marcus’s voice drifted up the attic steps, steady and smooth. Too smooth. I shot a glance at the trunk, its cracked lid barely closed. You should’ve been faster. My heartbeat roared in my ears as I crouched lower behind the dusty crates.

The old floorboards creaked beneath my weight. Each sound felt like a betrayal. I gritted my teeth, biting down in panic.

“What are you doing, Claire?”

The second call was closer. He was climbing. I could hear the heavy thud of his boots on the steps, each one deliberate. A chill slithered through me.

He couldn’t find me here—not like this. My fingers fumbled for the letters, shoving them deeper into my coat pocket.

A shadow stretched across the attic floor, long and jagged in the dim moonlight. I froze. His silhouette filled the doorway. For one agonizing second, the attic fell silent. No wind. No breath. Only Marcus’s figure, unnervingly still.

“Thought I heard something,” he murmured.

His voice was soft, but it cut like glass. I sank further behind the crates, my heart rattling against my ribs. Go away. My mind screamed it over and over. My knees ached from holding still, but I didn’t move.

Marcus stepped into the attic, his boots scraping against the wood. Slow. Methodical. He lingered just feet away, his gaze sweeping the room.

“Claire,” he called again, quieter now, almost coaxing. “What are you hiding?”

I clenched my jaw to stifle the shaky breath threatening to escape. His words curled around me like a noose. Marcus always had a way of knowing things—of seeing too much. He was Elena’s shadow, her hound, loyal to her and no one else.

A sudden thud broke the silence. My pulse leapt as Marcus bent down, lifting an old toy—a wooden horse—from the floor. His fingers traced its edge absentmindedly.

“You shouldn’t be sneaking around,” he said, his tone dropping. “It’s dangerous.”

My stomach turned. The warning wasn’t a threat. It was a promise.

He straightened, holding the toy for a moment before setting it back down with a hollow clatter. My fingers dug into the dusty crate as I held perfectly still. Leave.

“Elena doesn’t like secrets,” Marcus muttered to himself.

A bitter taste filled my mouth. Of course she didn’t. Secrets were the only thing that could tear her perfect mask apart. I shifted my weight an inch, wincing as the wood groaned softly beneath me.

Marcus’s head snapped up.

My blood ran cold. He turned his face toward the shadows where I hid, his eyes narrowing—searching. My heart dropped into my stomach. I held my breath so tightly it burned.

Seconds stretched into forever. Then, finally—mercifully—he turned toward the trunk. My pulse hammered wildly as he knelt beside it.

Don’t open it. Please don’t open it.

“Strange,” he muttered. “This wasn’t open before.”

My body turned to stone. Marcus gripped the trunk lid, pulling it open with an agonizing groan. My throat tightened as he peered inside, his expression unreadable in the dim light.

Then he froze.

“Claire?”

His voice was no longer smooth. It was sharp, cutting through the silence like a blade. He knew. Somehow, he knew someone had been here. I couldn’t breathe.

Marcus straightened abruptly. His shadow loomed as he turned, scanning the attic one last time.

“Next time, I’ll find you.”

The threat dripped from every word. My nails bit into my palms as Marcus finally retreated, his boots echoing down the steps. I stayed frozen, the silence screaming in my ears until his footsteps vanished entirely.

Only then did I let the breath I’d been holding escape, shaky and raw. My hands trembled as I pulled the letters from my coat pocket, clutching them to my chest. My mind raced.

Elena knew. She always knew. About Sarah. About what happened that day.

And Marcus… he wasn’t just watching me. He was hunting me.

I shoved the letters deeper into my coat and stood on unsteady legs. My knees ached as I crept toward the attic steps, listening for any sound below. It was quiet. Too quiet. I couldn’t stay here.

As I slipped down the steps, the house seemed to hold its breath. Shadows clung to the walls, stretching unnaturally. Elena’s portrait stared down at me from the hallway—cold. Condemning.

I paused, my pulse racing.

“She’s watching you,” I whispered to myself.

And somehow, I knew—Elena wasn’t the only one.

The floor creaked behind me.

I turned, my blood turning to ice.

Someone was there.