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The dress is a rich charcoal, designed to hug every curve, creating a barrier between the skin’s warmth and the house’s chill.

“Ready,” I announce, stepping out. Kieran’s gaze is cast down the empty corridor to his left.

“Did you lock all the entrances?” I ask, amused when he doesn’t speak.

His responding chuckle is a hollow sound that doesn’t reach the vacant stare in his eyes. “Yes. We’re safe to dine tonight as safe as any night here.”

I lock the bedroom door behind me, shutting away the mess and spiraling thoughts. Misty trots faithfully at my heels. The three of us descend the staircase in companionable silence, though beneath it, tension hums.

Kieran bypasses the dining room and leads me toward the solarium. The one room I hadn’t visited much over the last few days. The solarium had a direct view to an open patio, covered in roots, dead shrubs and a muddy life-sized chessboard. It was also the one location where you could push someone over the edge and they’d plunge right onto the shore.

“This is where we’re having dinner?” I ask, fingers brushing the threshold. Above us, portrayed through thick glass is the night converging into a dense velvet mass. It presses in, heavier than usual, sending a faint ripple through my nerves. Was it the creatures? The unknown lurking just beyond the walls?

“You said the dining room was creepy.” He reminds me of my statement and gestures for me to follow.

“No offense, but this whole place is creepy,” I mutter, rolling my eyes, though a chill skates down my spine.

“Unfortunately so is the rest of the town,” he volleys.

“No kidding, I wish you would have warned me about the creatures.”

“I did. You ignored those warnings,” he says, smugly.

Kieran walks deeper into the solarium, moving through the monstrous overgrowth of exotic plants, and I follow closely behind, the candlelight stretching our shadows together. A small pathway through the room had been cleared, lined on either side with flickering candles.

Tiny trembling flames cast fractured halos against the glass panels above us. I wondered how this place wasn’t already a smoldering ruin; one stray ember and the entire solarium would go up like a pyre.

Kieran continues to lead me along the narrow trail to a small table tucked between enormous elephant-ear plants—lush green monstrosities that should not exist in this climate.

Beyond the thick glass of the solarium, winter reigned mercilessly. Ice clung to every surface, yet here, life thrived, verdant and impossible. The place fills me with an undeniable dread as if the plants themselves are watching us exist in their space. It’s as if any of them might suddenly unfurl their leaves and devour us whole.

What if I wasn’t recovering from trauma at all? What if I am dead and in Hell, and these were merely my trials? And if so, did trials include a one-eyed guardian dog and two devastatingly handsome, impossible men?

No scholarly reads could ever prepare me for this train of thought. Kieran holds out a hand to me. I hesitate before slipping mine into his. His palm is cool, his grip steady, grounding. With the other hand he pulls back my chair, and the gesture sends a wave of nerves ricocheting through me.

He is a strange miscalculation in my healing process; I had been steady as the rocks anchoring this house to the cliffs, but around him, my hold crumbled. My heart fluttered, butterflies congregated, and I found myself stumbling. Were these feelings anxiety or attraction? The pair were so intertwined I could hardly distinguish them.

“It’s really nice here,” I remark. Aside from the towering plants, there were small potted plants, blooming flowers, and wooden tables arranged with herbs, creating the illusion of a sacred grove, an oasis carved from decay. Most importantly, it’s warmer here, the air thick with an earthy heat the rest of the house refuses to hold within its hollow halls.

“It’s been in the family for generations,” he replies, taking the seat across from me. “It’s hard to get certain vegetables and roots out here, so they created the next best solution. I’m surprised it’s still around.”

Misty circles once and folds herself neatly at the edge of the candlelit circle, the soft shape of her body forming a protective barrier between me and the overlapping leaf of a gargantuan plant. There’s a small bowl beside her filled with cooked meat.

“Who takes care of it now?” I ask, an idea forming in my chest. The more useful I became here, the more access I would earn.

“No one, really,” he answers. “Winston does, but he’s overwhelmed by the grounds as it is.”

“What if I were to take it over? The responsibility, I mean.” I lift a shoulder in a half-shrug.

Kieran pauses mid-motion, his hand hovering over the lid of one of the dishes he had prepared. “You would want to?”

“Why not? I want to pay for my living here. Besides”—I gesture vaguely—“I doubt anyone outside Devil’s Bay would hire me without credentials.”

“Maybe they would here in Devil’s Bay, but not anywhere else,” he murmurs.

He pours two glasses of wine, the liquid rich and dark as blood. I watch as he blinks away a rising fatigue, the candlelight softening the shadows beneath his eyes.

“Should we be drinking?” I ask.