The silence that followed his confession was not silence at all. It was breathing. The house itself seemed to inhale, as though every wall, every beam, every candle-flame drew in air to hold it, waiting. Adrian felt the weight of that breath against his chest, pressing, suffocating.
Then—the voice again.
"You should not have told them, Adrian."
It was no hallucination. No trick of guilt. The tone was too measured, too deep, resonating not only in his ears but in his bones. Cassia's fingers dug into his arm, and when Adrian turned to her, her face was pale as death.
Selene, who had mastered every expression, who thrived on composure, allowed the faintest shift to touch her features. Her smile trembled. For the briefest moment, Adrian thought he saw fear flicker in her eyes.
That frightened him more than the voice itself.
"Who speaks?" Selene's voice was calm, commanding, but it carried an edge sharper than steel.
The women looked around wildly. Althea rose halfway from her seat, then froze as if something unseen pressed her back down. Liora's bravado melted into a sharp gasp, her hand flying to her throat.
The voice did not answer her. It spoke only to Adrian.
"Truth was not yours to give. You were chosen to keep it. But you failed."
Adrian staggered backward, his heart pounding. His words caught in his throat. "I—I don't understand—"
The floorboards groaned beneath his feet, long cracks appearing like veins spreading from where he stood. The candles flickered, not with wind but with something heavier, darker, as if shadows themselves wished to extinguish the flame.
The house was alive.
Cassia clung to him, whispering his name, but he could barely hear her over the blood rushing in his ears. Selene moved forward then, stepping into the growing circle of darkness, her crimson gown brushing against the fractured marble. She looked up, her voice sharp as a blade.
"Show yourself!"
The voice laughed.
It was not the laugh of a man, nor of any creature he had ever known. It rolled like thunder through the room, shaking the walls, making the chandeliers tremble. The air smelled suddenly of iron, of earth after a storm.
Selene's command fell into nothing. For once, she seemed smaller, diminished.
And Adrian realized with horror: She is not in control of this.
The voice dropped again, soft, intimate, as though whispering directly into his ear:
"Did you think the chains were hers to give? Did you think her eyes were the prison? No, Adrian. I have been here long before her, long before you. This house does not belong to her. It belongs to me."
The floor beneath his knees split further, a jagged crack opening to reveal blackness. It was not soil, not stone—just void. The kind of emptiness that looked back.
Cassia screamed and tried to pull him away, but the floor seemed to hold him, sticky, resisting. His breath came in gasps. He tried to rise, to wrench himself free, but something tugged downward, subtle at first, then stronger.
He was being claimed.
Selene's composure cracked further. She raised her hands, muttering words Adrian could not understand—low, foreign, rhythmic. The candles blazed high as if answering her, pushing back some of the dark.
But the voice only laughed again.
"You dressed yourself in red, Selene, to hide the truth. But you cannot command me. You never could. And you—" it turned back to Adrian, its tone twisting into something almost tender, "—you were the perfect vessel. Desire ripens you. Guilt feeds you. Soon, you will be ready."
Adrian's mind spun. Vessel? Ready? He shook his head violently, his voice breaking. "I am not yours! I belong to no one!"
The house answered with a shudder, dust raining from the ceiling, a chandelier swinging violently.
"Belong?" the voice repeated, mocking. "You already belong. Kneel to her, kneel to me, it matters little. Chains are chains. But only one of us tells the truth."
Cassia shouted above the noise, clutching Adrian desperately. "Don't listen! Adrian, don't believe it!"
Selene's voice cut through, sharp and commanding, though laced with fury. "He is mine. Do you hear me? He will never be yours!"
The laugh came again, louder, shaking the very marrow of the house.
"He is already mine."
And then—silence.
The cracks in the floor stopped spreading. The candles steadied. The suffocating weight of the unseen presence lifted, though faint whispers still clung to the air.
Selene's chest rose and fell rapidly, her façade broken. She looked almost mortal. Almost afraid.
The women sat frozen, too terrified to speak.
Adrian's knees finally gave way, and he collapsed onto his hands, panting, drenched in sweat. Cassia knelt beside him, her hand brushing his face, tears streaking down her cheeks.
"What was that?" Adrian whispered hoarsely. "What is this place?"
Selene turned sharply, her eyes burning. For the first time since he had met her, her smile was gone.
"You were never meant to hear it," she said, her voice low, almost trembling. "And if you value your life, you will never speak of it again."
Her words did not calm him. They filled him with a deeper dread.
Because Adrian knew, in that moment, that Selene feared something greater than herself. And whatever that was—it had chosen him.
But the night was not finished with him.
Long after the hall emptied, after Selene dismissed the women with uncharacteristic haste, Adrian lay awake in his chamber. Cassia had refused to leave him, though she trembled at every creak of the house.
The whispers had not ceased. They came softly now, threading through the walls like smoke. He could not tell if Cassia heard them too or if they were meant only for him.
"Vessel… choice… hunger…"
He pressed his palms against his ears, but the words seeped into his skull. His chest ached, his breath shallow.
Cassia stroked his hair gently, whispering comfort, but her hands shook. "We'll get out, Adrian," she murmured. "We'll find a way. Whatever it is, we'll leave it behind."
But he knew she was wrong. You could not leave something that lived inside walls. You could not flee from a voice that already knew your name.
At last, exhausted, he drifted into sleep—only to wake in the deepest hours of the night with the sensation of being watched.
His eyes snapped open.
And there, at the far end of his chamber, in the faint candlelight, stood a figure.
Tall. Shrouded. Unmoving.
Its face hidden in shadow.
It whispered—not with lips, but with the house itself—
"You are ready."