The bread tin still sat on the table the next morning. Adrian hadn't touched it. He didn't trust it, but he couldn't throw it away either.
Another knock came at noon.
Adrian froze mid-step, eyes snapping toward the door. His stomach tightened. She was back.
He dragged himself over and cracked it open. Evelyn stood there again, hands folded neatly in front of her.
"You again," Adrian muttered.
"Me again." Her smile was calm, patient. "May I come in?"
"No."
Her smile widened slightly. "Then I'll stand here until you change your mind."
Adrian sighed and opened the door wider. "You're persistent."
"It's a useful trait," she said, stepping past him as though she already belonged.
Inside, Evelyn glanced around with the same composure as yesterday. "I was thinking," she began, "this house has more space than one man needs."
Adrian narrowed his eyes. "What are you getting at?"
"Do you rent rooms?"
Adrian snorted. "No."
"Would you consider it?"
"No."
Evelyn tilted her head. "You could use the money. And I could use a roof."
Adrian barked a bitter laugh. "You think I need reminding? The bills pile up like corpses."
She didn't flinch. "Then let me help."
Adrian's eyes hardened. "I don't want help. Especially not from strangers."
"Then don't think of it as help," she said softly. "Think of it as business."
Adrian turned away, pacing the room. "You don't understand what this house is. People avoid it for a reason. They avoid me for a reason."
"I've seen," Evelyn said simply.
"Then why are you here?"
"Because I'm not afraid."
Adrian whipped around. "Everyone should be afraid of me. Of this place."
She met his glare calmly. "Everyone except me."
He stared at her. Something about the steadiness in her eyes unsettled him more than the whispers. He rubbed his temples. "You don't want to live here. Trust me."
Evelyn folded her arms. "Try me."
"This house is…" He stopped, words dying on his tongue. How could he explain? The stench, the laughter, the shadows?
Evelyn waited, expression patient.
Finally, Adrian growled, "You'll regret it."
"Maybe," she said softly. "But maybe not."
The pipes groaned. A draft shivered through the hall.
Adrian muttered, "You won't stop, will you?"
"No."
"You're insane."
"Perhaps."
He rubbed the back of his neck. Loneliness gnawed at him. The empty rooms, the silence broken only by whispers — it was unbearable. A voice in his head hissed, Don't trust her. Another whispered, At least she's real.
Adrian exhaled sharply. "Fine. One room."
Evelyn's smile deepened. "Which one?"
"You don't care?"
"I'll take whichever you give me."
Adrian snorted. "You won't want the upstairs."
Her gaze flicked toward the staircase again. "Why not?"
"Because…" He hesitated. "Because it's worse there."
Her eyes lingered on his, searching. Then she nodded. "Then downstairs will do."
He led her down the narrow hallway. One door creaked open to a spare bedroom — dusty, walls cracked, furniture old but intact.
Evelyn stepped inside, brushing her fingers across the dresser. "It will do."
Adrian leaned against the frame. "You're not bothered by the smell?"
She smiled faintly. "You get used to things. Even rot."
Her choice of words sent a chill through him.
Back in the kitchen, she set a small envelope on the table. "First month."
Adrian frowned. "Cash?"
"Yes."
He opened it. The bills were crisp, clean. Too clean. He looked up sharply. "Where'd you get this?"
Her lips curved faintly. "Does it matter?"
"Yes."
"Then call it savings."
Adrian narrowed his eyes but shoved the envelope into his pocket. "You're hiding something."
Evelyn met his stare evenly. "So are you."
Silence stretched. The house creaked. Somewhere upstairs, a floorboard groaned.
Evelyn glanced up. "Someone else here?"
Adrian's throat tightened. "No."
Her eyes lingered a second longer, then she said softly, "All right."
They sat across from each other. The bread tin still sat unopened between them. Evelyn tapped it lightly. "You still haven't tried it."
"Because I don't trust you."
Her lips curved. "Good. Trust can be dangerous."
Adrian frowned. "You say strange things."
"Do I?" She leaned forward slightly. "Or do I just say the things you're afraid to admit?"
Adrian stood abruptly, chair scraping. "Enough. You can stay. Pay your rent. But keep out of my way."
Evelyn's smile returned, calm as ever. "As you wish."
He pointed at the hallway. "Your room. That's where you stay."
She rose gracefully. "Understood."
As she passed him, she said quietly, "Thank you."
Adrian muttered, "Don't thank me. You'll regret it."
When she disappeared into the hallway, Adrian sat again at the table. His hand hovered over the bread tin.
He muttered, "What the hell am I doing?"
From the hall came Evelyn's voice, faint but clear: "Surviving."
Adrian froze.
The house groaned above him.
And this time, the laughter didn't sound like Ella's. It sounded like both of them.