Then, he drew back, dropping his hand like it hadn’t lingered at all.
Like nothing happened.
I took a breath, slow and quiet, filling my lungs with cold air as I looked up to meet his eyes.
“What do you know about ghosts anyway?” I asked, but instead of answering he just—stared.
Like he was trying to read me. Not my face, but what lay beneath. The parts I kept locked away, tucked behind steel walls. I could feel my skin heat again, and I hated it. For a second, it looked like he might say something. His lips parted, his gaze softening just enough to cast him in an unfamiliar light.
Like there was a Preston beneath the surface I hadn’t met yet.
But then he looked away, a muscle feathering in his jaw, like he was caught in some silent war with himself.
“No more than any other bloke,” he said, his voice flat, suddenly uninterested, as he moved on, down the corridor.
I hesitated for a heartbeat before following. Just as I caught up, he halted again, resting his hand on a doorknob I hadn’t noticed until now. A tall panel of glass, glowing faintly in the candlelight.
The panes looked like they were made of fairy wings—veined and delicate, washed in colours reminiscent of dusk, and that shimmered with age.
His fingers twitched, hesitant, like he couldn’t decide what he wanted, but then, he pushed it open, and a cold breeze swept through, carrying the scent of rain and frost.
Beyond it lay a silent balcony and the endless night.
“I roam the halls when I can’t sleep,” he said, breaking the quiet as he stepped out into the hugging arms of winter. “And almost always, I end up on this balcony.” He leaned forward, resting his arms on the balustrade, his gaze fixed on the night sky. “The manor looks different in the dark. The whole land does.”
I knew what he meant. It could be comforting, being alone in the dark. When people weren’t watching, when it was just you and the silence. The only thing I didn’t like was my thundering thoughts taking me to places I didn’t want to revisit.
Seeing him stand so close to the edge took me back to my dream. I could feel the cold kiss of rain on my shoulders like I was back there, watching him dive to his death once more. I shook, trying to get rid of the unwanted picture stuck inside my head.
My toes curled as I followed him, the stone icy beneath my feet. If I was lucky I would catch a cold before my birthday. The grounds were asleep, silent, the only sound coming from the occasional hoot of an owl. I tried to see which part of the manor we were in, but couldn’t. I didn’t see the maze, or the greenhouse, nor the ghostly whites of those haunting sculptures. The only thing I saw was darkness consuming everything.
I stopped beside Preston and looked down, trying to see the ground. Nothing. No sight of bushes or trees, just the endless void stretching until it reached the stars in the sky. I turnedaround, resting my back against the stone, choosing to face the gaping hallway instead.
Silence settled between us thick and full, broken only by the rustle of leaves far below and the occasional creak of the roof above us. The cold snuck in through my sleeves, needling its way down my spine.
Preston exhaled slowly.
“I used to hate this place,” he said, and I glanced at him sideways. “Not just the house, all of it.”
His profile was unreadable, his jaw sharp, his eyes steady on the dark horizon.
“So, what changed?” I asked, sliding down until I was sitting on the cold floor of the balcony. The candlelight was warm in my hands.
He shrugged. Then, to my surprise, followed my example and settled down beside me.
“I did,” he muttered, his brow furrowing, like the answer had surprised even him. The candlelight painted soft shadows along the curve of his sweater.
I picked at the edge of the oversized white T-shirt I wore as pyjamas and tried to gather courage to say what I wanted. Preston’s breath ghosted into the night air.
“I found out something,” I said, my voice distant, like it didn’t quite belong to me. From the corner of my eye, I saw him turn his head.
“About what?”
I stared ahead, my mouth dry, the name heavy on my tongue.
“About my mum,” I said at last, the candle flickering between my hands. “And my father.”
I didn’t see Preston, nor did I want to. That would have made it much harder to say what I wanted out loud.
