Sana stood in the doorway of Christopher's room, heart still tapping a strange rhythm in her chest. Her little brother breathed steadily, peaceful in sleep. The moonlight slanted across his blanket. Everything in the room was as it should be.
Except the key was gone.
She looked down at her hand—empty. Her palm remembered the weight. Her fingers remembered the texture. But there was nothing now.
She backed away slowly, glancing toward the stairs. Every step creaked too loudly in the stillness.
The kitchen was dark, as before. The table was bare. No letter. No key. No trace.
Catherine appeared behind her, rubbing one eye, hair loose over her shoulder.
"You alright?" she asked, voice soft.
Sana hesitated. "Did you come down?"
"No. I just… I woke up and you were gone."
"I came to check something," Sana whispered.
Catherine looked past her into the kitchen. "Did something happen?"
"I had a dream, I think."
Sana didn't believe it, even as she said it.
---
The next morning came with the clinking of teacups and a fog pressing against the windows like a thought that wouldn't lift.
Mary poured honey into her tea, her face unreadable.
Jacob read the morning paper—or pretended to. His fingers gripped the edges too tightly.
Catherine buttered toast with calm, her eyes flicking to Sana every few moments.
Sana waited until all were seated. "The key," she said. "Where is it?"
Jacob didn't look up. "What key?"
"The one from the letter."
The room paused—slightly, subtly.
"What are you talking about?" Emma asked, chewing.
"The silver key," Sana pressed. "The one that looked like roots. You left it on the table."
Jacob finally looked up. "I took it upstairs."
"No," Sana said. "It was on the table last night. I touched it. I held it. Then it vanished."
Emily leaned forward, interested now. "Vanished like poof or vanished like someone stole it?"
"Poof."
"Nice."
Christopher blinked slowly. "The lady took it."
Silence.
Jacob's voice tightened. "What lady?"
Christopher pointed at the table. "She was standing there. I saw her when I was dreaming. She said she was just borrowing it."
Mary placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. "It was just a dream, sweetheart."
"No," he murmured. "She was real."
Sana glanced at him, then at Jacob—who was suddenly unreadable.
He stood, folding the paper. "We need to talk."
---
They gathered in the sitting room. Firelight flickered low across the walls. Outside, the fog lingered, as if listening.
Jacob stood by the mantel.
"There's something we haven't told you," he said. "Something we never meant to tell, unless… unless we had to."
Mary sat beside Christopher, arms around his shoulders. Catherine and the twins leaned in.
Jacob reached into his coat and pulled out the key.
Sana's eyes widened. "You had it?"
"No," he said. "It returned."
Sana felt a sharp chill down her spine.
He set it on the mantelpiece.
"It's from the Thornwick Estate," Jacob said quietly. "Our ancestral home. It's been empty since before you were born. I never wanted to go back. But there are… conditions."
"What kind of conditions?" Catherine asked.
Jacob exhaled slowly. "We were meant to return when the children came of age. To claim it. To live there. It was part of the inheritance."
Emma's voice was thin. "So we own a haunted mansion?"
"Not haunted," Mary said. "Not… exactly."
Emily grinned. "That's not comforting."
"We didn't tell you," Mary continued, "because we wanted to give you a better life. A simpler one. The estate… it's not just a house. It carries a legacy."
Sana stared at the key, throat dry. "Why now?"
"Because the caretakers sent the letter," Jacob said. "And you're eighteen. The estate legally belongs to you, Sana."
Her stomach turned.
"I don't want it."
"You may not have a choice."
---
The next morning, Brindlewood rose early with bread smoke and market wagons.
The Thornwicks packed their things into the back of the old horse-cart. Loaves for the road. Baskets of dried fruit. A copper kettle wrapped in linen. The bakery door closed behind them for the last time—at least for now.
Neighbors came to say goodbye.
Mrs. Winthrop hugged each of them, handing Sana a wrapped jar of plum preserves. "Don't let the wind chase you out."
The baker across the lane gave Jacob a firm handshake. "You'll be back. It's just a detour."
Emily and Emma stood near the wagon, taking turns staring dramatically into the distance.
Sana turned as someone tapped her shoulder.
A girl her age, soft curls and ink-stained fingers—her friend Althea. She said nothing. Just held out a small cloth book with Sana's initials embroidered on the front.
"For your thoughts," she whispered.
Sana hugged her tight. "Thank you."
And then it was time.
Jacob clucked the reins, and the wagon creaked forward. The crowd waved.
As they turned the bend, Catherine glanced back.
At the edge of the crowd, standing by the corner post where the lamplight faded into fog, was a man in a black coat. He did not wave. He did not smile.
He was watching Sana.
And when Sana glanced over her shoulder, he was gone.
---
The road twisted through forests first—dense and green, whispering with birds and insects. Then into the hills, where the fog hung lower, curling around stone markers and creaking trees.
The family rode in quiet spells, broken by bursts of laughter from the twins, and once by Christopher trying to teach the rabbit how to whistle.
Sana leaned against the side of the cart, eyes on the tree line.
She didn't know when she fell asleep.
But when she did, she dreamed.
A tree—massive, ancient, leafless—burning against a black sky.
And a woman standing at its base, staring into the flames. Her face was turned. Her hands were bare. She was holding something.
A silver key.
---
Velgrove rose from the fog like a memory half-remembered.
The buildings were stone and wood, stained with moss. The streets were narrow. The air smelled of peat and old fireplaces. But there was warmth—candles in windows, curtains pulled aside. People on porches.
A man waved as they passed. A woman offered bread from her basket.
The Thornwicks were welcomed. Not joyfully—but kindly. Carefully.
An older man named Mr. Alder offered to guide them to the estate. "Can't miss it," he said. "Just follow the slope past the chapel ruins."
A small girl stood by the steps of a closed apothecary as the cart passed.
She stared straight at Sana and said, "Your house doesn't sleep."
Then she turned and walked away.
---
Thornwick Estate announced itself long before they reached it.
The trees thinned. The wind slowed.
And there it stood.
A mansion of dark stone and ivy, rising on the hill like it had grown there. Three stories. Steep gables. Iron balconies. Windows too tall for their rooms.
The gates stood open.
No one had opened them.
The cart creaked forward.
They dismounted.
Sana stood before the door, the wind pulling at her coat.
Jacob reached into his coat.
The key—warm now—rested in his palm.
He fit it into the lock.
The door opened without sound.
And when they stepped inside, the wind behind them rose—
—and slammed it shut.