Months later, the town of Durnville had healed its visible scars.
The burnt crypt lay buried beneath fresh earth, the authorities having deemed it an abandoned ruin with no further leads.
Mara sat by her sister's grave, hands folded, sunlight filtering through the autumn leaves.
Rowan stood silently beside her, watching the quiet town bustle with life.
"Do you ever wonder," Mara whispered, "if any of it was real? Or if it was just a shadow we chased?"
Rowan looked toward the horizon.
"Maybe the shadows never leave. Maybe we just learn to live with them."
A soft vibration interrupted their silence.
Mara glanced at her phone.
A message — from an unknown number.
"The roots run deeper than you know.
We are still here."
Her fingers tightened around the device.
Rowan reached out.
"We'll be ready."
Together, they stood, facing the lingering darkness — knowing that some shadows never truly fade.