They didn't speak on the way back.
The streets looked the same as they had when they'd left—the neat rows of houses, the trimmed lawns, the familiar cracks in the sidewalks—but every shadow seemed sharper, every window a watching eye. Evelyn couldn't shake the feeling that Edgar was still out there, lingering just beyond sight, smiling.
Her hand stayed clenched in Silas's, tight enough that her fingers ached. He didn't let go. Not once.
By the time they reached her porch, her legs felt like water. She nearly stumbled on the steps, but Silas steadied her with a hand at her back.
Inside, the house was silent. Too silent. The kind of silence that pressed against the skin. Evelyn shut the door and twisted the lock three times, then dragged the chain across, then pressed her palm flat against the wood as if that would hold it closed.
Silas stood a few feet away, scanning the room the way a soldier might, his body taut with tension. Only when he was satisfied did his gaze drop back to her.
"You're shaking," he said quietly.
She laughed, brittle. "I can't stop."
Her arms were trembling, her whole body buzzing with leftover terror. Her throat tightened as she tried to breathe, but the panic still clawed, threatening to drag her under again.
Silas stepped closer, slow, deliberate. "Sit."
She sank onto the couch, clutching a throw pillow to her chest like it could shield her.
He crouched in front of her, resting his forearms on his knees. "Look at me."
Her eyes lifted reluctantly. His hazel gaze was steady, grounding. "He didn't get us," Silas said. Each word came out firm, certain. "We're here. We're breathing. That means we're still ahead."
The words shouldn't have helped, but they did. A little. She let out a shaky laugh, tears stinging her eyes. "You sound like you've done this before."
Something flickered across his face—too quick to catch—but then he nodded. "Once or twice."
Evelyn's chest ached. "I was useless back there. I froze. I couldn't even breathe."
"You breathed," he corrected, his voice sharp but not unkind. "You came back. That's not nothing."
Her throat closed up. She bit her lip hard, pressing the pillow tighter. For a moment, she hated herself—hated how weak she felt, how broken. But when she met his gaze again, there was no judgment there. Just quiet certainty.
"I don't want to be afraid anymore," she whispered.
"You will be," Silas said, and for some reason that honesty steadied her more than any comfort could have. He reached out, hesitated, then placed his hand gently over hers. His palm was warm, calloused. "But it won't own you."
Her eyes burned. She wanted to believe him. She wanted to believe she could survive this. That Edgar wasn't invincible.
"Stay," she said suddenly, the word spilling out before she could stop it. "Don't leave tonight. Please."
Silas didn't answer right away. His jaw worked, like he was weighing something heavy in his mind. Finally, he nodded once. "I'll stay."
Relief rushed through her so hard it nearly broke her. She pressed her face into the pillow to hide the tears that spilled free.
Silas didn't move. He just stayed there, crouched in front of her, his hand steady over hers, holding her together while the rest of her threatened to fall apart.
And in the silence of the house—the silence that used to terrify her—Evelyn realized she wasn't alone in it anymore.
For the first time since she moved into the cursed house, she had someone else to share the dark with.
Someone who understood.
Someone who stayed.
--- ✦ ---
The house still felt like it was holding its breath.
But Evelyn's body was finally beginning to unclench, bit by bit. The tears had slowed, leaving her chest raw and hollow, and she hated how much of herself she'd just spilled in front of him. She wasn't used to being seen like this. She wasn't used to being seen at all.
Silas hadn't moved. He stayed crouched in front of her, his hand warm over hers, patient in a way that made her throat ache.
"You're still trembling," he murmured.
She gave a weak laugh. "I think that's just my new personality."
His mouth twitched—the closest thing to a smile she'd seen from him. "It doesn't suit you."
Her heart jumped at the words, too big for how small they were. She didn't know what to say, so instead she let the pillow slide from her arms and reached for him.
At first, the hug was clumsy. She leaned forward, and he hesitated like he wasn't sure how to respond. Then, slowly, he wrapped his arms around her, careful and deliberate, as if afraid she might break.
The moment his chest pressed to hers, something inside her cracked open. The warmth of him, the solid weight, the steady rhythm of his breathing—it all worked like stitches pulling her back together.
She buried her face in his shoulder. "You feel real," she whispered.
"I am," he said softly.
They stayed like that, folded into each other, until her shaking eased. The silence didn't feel suffocating anymore; it felt full, thick with unspoken things.
When she finally pulled back, she half-expected him to retreat. But instead, he sat down beside her on the couch. One arm stayed looped casually along the backrest, close enough that his knuckles brushed her shoulder every time she shifted.
Without thinking, she leaned into him. His warmth spread through her like sunlight, easing the cold edges the fear had left behind.
"You really don't mind staying?" she asked quietly.
Silas tilted his head to look at her. "Would you sleep if I left?"
"…No."
"Then I'm staying."
Simple. Final.
Evelyn smiled, small and fragile, but real. She tucked herself closer, curling against him. For the first time since she'd moved into the house, she felt like maybe—just maybe—she could rest.
Silas adjusted slightly, draping his arm around her shoulders. He didn't say anything more, but the subtle squeeze of his arm said enough.
And there, in the glow of the dim lamp, wrapped in the steady presence of someone who finally understood, Evelyn let herself believe she wasn't alone.
Not tonight.
Not anymore.