Charlotte's silence stretched too long. The air in the room grew thick, suffocating. Mira stared at her, waiting, her arms wrapped tight around me. Her fingers dug into the blanket like she was trying to hold onto something solid while everything else crumbled.
I felt her frustration—sharp and buzzing, mixing with the fear she refused to show.
The door creaked open.
It wasn't loud, but it hit like thunder. Mira spun around, pulling me closer, her body coiled tight. Charlotte's hand dropped to her blade, muscles tensing.
Lucien stood there.
He looked... wrong. Still tall, still composed with those sharp blue eyes scanning the room. But his shoulders sagged. His coat was torn, streaked with something too dark to be dirt. His knuckles were white where he gripped the doorframe, and his breathing was too careful, like every breath hurt.
Mira froze. "Lucien."
He didn't answer right away. His eyes found her, then me. Something shifted in his face—almost like regret. He straightened, pushing off the doorframe, but the movement looked forced.
"Close the door." His voice was quiet but carried weight.
Charlotte hesitated, hand still on her blade. "What happened?"
Lucien ignored her. He stepped inside, moving slow and deliberate. The room felt smaller with him in it, heavier.
"Lucien." Mira's voice was sharper now. "What the hell happened?"
He finally looked at her properly. His expression hardened into that unreadable mask he wore. "It's handled."
The relief that flooded through Mira was so sudden, so powerful, that I felt it wash over me like a wave. Her grip on me loosened just slightly, her shoulders dropping as she let out a shaky breath she'd been holding for who knows how long.
"Oh my," she whispered, her voice cracking. "I thought—when that thing took you, I thought—"
She couldn't finish. Her hands were trembling now, the adrenaline that had kept her going finally giving way. I could feel her emotions crashing over each other—relief, fear, anger, exhaustion.
Lucien saw it too. His expression softened, just a fraction, and he stepped closer. Not his usual calculated approach, but something gentler.
"Hey." His voice was low, meant just for her. "I'm here. I'm okay."
Mira nodded quickly, but tears were building in her eyes. "I couldn't—I didn't know what to do. That thing just swallowed you whole and—"
"Mira." Lucien reached out, his hand hovering near her shoulder. "Breathe."
She took a shuddering breath, then another. The panic was still there, but it was settling, contained by his presence.
"I'm okay," he said again, firmer this time. "We're all okay."
But Mira's relief was already shifting into something sharper. Her eyes focused on his torn coat, the dark stains, the careful way he was moving.
"That's not an answer." Her tone went tight, anger simmering just under the surface. "You said you'd handle it, and now you look like—like it nearly killed you."
Lucien's jaw tightened. His hand twitched at his side. "It didn't nearly kill me. It wasn't trying to."
"What does that mean?" Confusion cut through her anger.
He didn't answer right away. Instead, he crossed to the chair by the window, moving slower than usual. When he sat down, it was heavy, like his body was fighting him. The light caught his coat clearly now—deep red streaks that clung to the fabric.
Mira's pulse quickened against my back. I felt her grip tighten again.
"Where did it take you?" The questions started pouring out of her. "Why did it take you? How did you escape? What did it want? Lucien, I need to know what—"
"Mira."
She stopped, but her breathing was still fast, still shallow. Her fear was bleeding through the resonance, mixing with mine until I couldn't tell where hers ended and mine began.
"What did it do to you?" Her voice was smaller now, but no less desperate.
Lucien leaned back, staring at the ceiling. His hands clenched into fists against the chair. "It showed me things."
"What things?"
"Things that don't matter right now."
"Don't." Mira's voice cracked like a whip. "Don't you dare shut me out. Not after what just happened."
Lucien looked at her then, really looked at her. His expression was still guarded, but I could see something underneath it. Pain, maybe. Or guilt.
"The figure wasn't random," he said finally. "Neither was the summoning. It wasn't a coincidence."
Charlotte stepped closer. "What are you saying?"
"The wards didn't fail." Lucien's voice was flat, clinical. "They worked exactly like they were supposed to. The figure didn't come from outside the estate. It was already here."
Mira took a step back, her arms tightening around me.
"Because this estate isn't just a house. It's a vessel. And that figure—the energy tied to it—has been here since the beginning."
The words hung heavy in the air. Mira stared at him, her face going pale. "You mean the Redthorns."
Lucien nodded. "Their bloodline. Their rituals. They tied this place to something older than any of us." His eyes flicked to me. "And that connection didn't break when the family died. It's been waiting."
"For what?"
His jaw tightened. He hesitated just a moment. "For him."
Mira went completely still. I felt the air around her shift, her emotions crashing into each other like a storm. "You don't know that. You're guessing."
"No. I'm not." His tone was hard. "The wards responded to his birth. The figure appeared in his room. The mark is tied to his energy. It's not a coincidence, Mira."
Her grip on me was almost too tight now. "Then we leave. We take him and get out of this place."
Lucien shook his head slowly. "You can't."
"Watch me."
"You don't understand." His voice cut through her anger. "The connection isn't to the house. It's to him. If you leave, it won't stop. It'll follow."
Mira's breathing quickened. I felt her resolve cracking, fear seeping through. "So what? We just stay and wait for it to take him?"
"No. We figure out how to stop it."
"And how exactly do you suggest we do that?" Her voice was rising.
Lucien stood slowly, stiff movements betraying his pain. He crossed to stand in front of her, his gaze steady. "We start with the truth."
Mira stared at him, lips pressed thin. The room was silent except for her breathing.
Charlotte stepped forward. "What truth?"
"The curse. The bloodline. Everything the Redthorns tied to this estate—it didn't end with them. It passed on, through the Alarics. Through us." His eyes shifted to me again. "And now, it's in him."
Mira didn't move, didn't speak. Her face was blank, pale.
"This isn't just about the house," Lucien continued. "It's about the blood. The energy that ties him to it. We have to break it at the source."
"And what if we can't?" Her voice was barely audible.
Lucien's silence was answer enough.
Mira's breathing grew shallow, each exhale shaking like it might break. I felt the fear spiraling inside her, raw and desperate. Her hands trembled against the blanket but she didn't let go.
"You're telling me my son is tied to this curse. That this thing is in him. And you have no plan? No answer?"
"Not yet."
She let out a sharp, bitter laugh. "Not yet. That's your answer?" She shook her head. "You've known this was coming, haven't you? Since the day he was born, you've been watching and waiting for this."
"Yes."
Mira flinched like he'd slapped her. "And you didn't think to tell me?"
"What would you have done? Run? Fought the house? You think ignorance would've kept him safe?"
"You don't get to decide what I would've done."
But even as she said it, I could feel the doubt creeping in. The fear that maybe he was right, that knowing wouldn't have changed anything except make her suffer longer.
"You knew," she said again, her voice breaking. "You knew and you let me bond with him. Let me fall in love with him. Let me think we could be a normal family."
Lucien's expression cracked, just slightly. "Mira—"
"No." She turned away from him. "You don't get to comfort me. Not about this."
The argument built between them, sharp words cutting back and forth. I felt it all through the resonance—Mira's hot, brittle anger crashing against Lucien's cold, steady resolve. Each exchange left new wounds, new cracks in whatever was left between them.
Charlotte finally stepped between them. "We can't afford this right now. If what Lucien's saying is true, then fighting won't change anything. We need to focus on what's next."
"And what is that exactly?" Mira turned on her. "What's next, Charlotte? You think we can just fix this?"
"We have to try."
"Try." The word dripped with disbelief. Mira looked back at Lucien. "You let this curse touch my son. You knew, and you let it happen."
"I didn't let it happen. It was already here. This isn't something I control, Mira. It's something I'm trying to contain."
"Not good enough."
Her anger flared again, but underneath it was that deep, aching fear. Fear for me, fear of what she couldn't fight or protect me from. It wasn't just anger at Lucien—it was anger at herself, at the house, at everything.
"I don't care about your containment," she said, voice shaking. "I care about him."
Lucien's eyes softened, just for a moment. He looked at me. "So do I."
The silence after that was heavier than the argument. Mira didn't respond, but her grip on me tightened—a silent promise that she wouldn't let me go.
Charlotte cleared her throat. "If the bloodline is the source, then the key is understanding it. We need to go back to the beginning. To the Redthorns."
Lucien nodded. "The ritual. The pact. We need to know what they did—and how to undo it."
"And what if it can't be undone?"
Lucien looked out the window. "Then we contain it."
Mira let out that bitter laugh again. "Contain it. You make it sound so simple."
"It's not. But it's the only option if breaking it isn't possible."
The room fell quiet again, the weight of his words settling over us like fog. I felt the tension, the unspoken fears none of them wanted to voice.
Charlotte suddenly stiffened. She'd been quiet for a while, but now she was frowning, her eyes distant like she was working through something.
"What is it?" Lucien asked, catching her expression.
"I' did a round recently," she said slowly. "Checking on everyone, making sure the staff were okay after... everything."
"And?"
"There's no one here." Her voice was flat. "The maids, the groundskeepers, the guards—everyone who works on this estate. They're gone. All of them. It's just us four."
The words hit the room like a physical blow. Mira went completely still. Lucien's expression darkened.
"Gone how?" he asked.
"I don't know. Their rooms are empty, but their things are still there. Like they just... vanished."
Charlotte's voice was tight with worry. These were her coworkers, people she'd known for years. The concern was written all over her face.
"When did you notice?" Lucien's tone was sharp now, focused.
"This morning, when I went to check the kitchen. Sarah wasn't there for breakfast prep. Then I checked the barracks, the servant quarters—nothing. It's like they never existed."
Mira's breathing quickened. "What does that mean?"
Lucien was quiet for a long moment, his mind working. "I noticed the silence," he admitted. "The house has felt... empty. I thought it was because of the wards, the energy disruption. But this..."
He trailed off, jaw clenched.
"This what?" Mira pressed.
"Time is running out faster than I thought." Lucien stood, pacing now despite his obvious pain. "Whatever's happening, whatever this thing wants—it's accelerating. The closer we get to understanding it, the more aggressive it becomes."
Charlotte's expression was grim. "So what do we do about the missing people?"
"We can't do anything right now," Lucien said bluntly. "I know how that sounds, but if we're right about the bloodline, about the connection—then solving that solves everything. The people, the disappearances, all of it."
"And if we're wrong?" Charlotte asked.
"Then they're already dead, and we will be too if we don't focus."
The harsh truth of it settled over the room. Charlotte's face was tight with grief and guilt, but she nodded. She understood the logic, even if she hated it.
"So we start with the archives," she said quietly.
"We start with the archives," Lucien confirmed.
But the tension between him and Mira was far from resolved. She was staring at him with a mixture of hurt and fury that made the air itself feel sharp.
"You should have told me," she said again, quieter this time but no less wounded. "About the bloodline. About the connection. About all of it."
"And what would you have done?" Lucien shot back. "Run away while you were pregnant? Tried to break a centuries-old curse with no knowledge or preparation?"
"I would have had a choice."
"You still have a choice."
"Do I?" She looked down at me, her expression soft and broken.
Lucien was quiet for a long moment. When he spoke, his voice was gentler. "We'll find a way out of this. All of us."
She nodded, wiping at her eyes quickly. "Then let's go to the archives."