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But no one asked if I was staying.
No one asked me anything at all.
The car disappeared down the drive. I stood there. Alone. I didn’t know if I wanted to scream or beg or run.
In the end—I did none of it.
I just turned.
Took a breath.
And stepped forward.
My steps scraped as I climbed. Breaths deepened, sucking in hard as I climbed the last step. But the man in front didn’t slow or ask forgiveness. He didn’t seem to see my gait, or the way my hand curled inward. He just opened the door and stepped through, waiting on the other side.
I lifted my gaze as the entrance gave way to something haunting and grand. Shadows clung to the ceiling, the light barely illuminating the way through. I should’ve been afraid. But I wasn’t.
The door closed. The sound echoing like a cry in the space. Gravity settled deeper here. Every sound harsh. Even my own heartbeat boomed louder like the house amplified everything.
“This way.” The man commanded.
Rafe, right? That’s what Guild called him. “Rafe.”
He stopped walking, then slowly turned. “Yes?”
“Where am I?”
He held my gaze. Dark eyes searched mine before he answered. “Home.”
Then he turned back around.
Home?
No.
I lifted my gaze again. The space opened around me. Vast and not welcoming.
My breath caught. Goosebumps raced. The air was colder in here. Not the sharp bite of outside, but something deeper. Something that’d settled into the wall and never left.
The heavier thud of my steps echoed. The sound too loud. Too exposed. My hand clenched into a fist. I lifted my foot higher, trying to muffle the sound. Polished stone was smooth and unforgiving. Every movement I made felt like it belonged to the house now—like it noticed everything…and wanted more.
Tall windows lined the far wall, but the curtains were drawn halfway, leaving a thin slash of light to spill across the room in uneven lines. I followed through one room and into another. Furniture sat exactly where it should be. Perfect and neat. Too perfect.
A long table stretched across the space, untouched. Chairs pulled in neatly. No sign anyone had eaten there in a very long time. I slowed. My chest tightened. It didn’t feel empty. It felt… held. Like something had been waiting. Like something had been kept here—long after it should’ve been let go. My fingers curled slightly at my side. I thought of the candles. The way the flames filled the room. The way the silence never left. I moved on before the feeling could settle.
I swallowed and stepped further in, my hand brushing the wall to steady myself. The surface was cold. Solid. Real. But the rest of it—felt like it could shift at any second. It was that haunted feeling that lingered as we walked through yet another room that led us to a hallway.
How big was this house?
I tried to look for him. The man from the gathering. The man with a scar across his face and white, unfocused eyes. I searched for him in every room, scanned the darkness in every corner, listening for him somehow as though somehow I expected him waiting. I didn’t see him. But I knew—this was where he lived.
6
ALARIC
The blade sat where I left it. Exactly where it belonged. I didn’t reach for it immediately. Didn’t need to. I knew the distance. The angle. The way the weight would shift when I picked it up. The balance of the blade just right in my palm, like it’d been made for this. Like it’d been made for me.
My fingers closed around the handle. Familiar. Worn. The leather softened over time, shaped by use. My grip. My memory. I dragged the cloth slowly along the edge. Steel whispered beneath it.
