The night after the mirror incident, Ivy barely slept. When she did, her dreams were a swirl of whispers, shadows moving just out of reach, and that fractured mirror. Each time she opened her eyes, she swore she heard footsteps outside her door.
But no one was there.
In the morning, she found Flora in the garden playing with chalk on the stone path.
"Did you sleep well?" Ivy asked, kneeling beside her.
Flora nodded cheerfully. "I dreamed about Miles."
Ivy smiled faintly. "Did you?"
"Mhm." Flora giggled. "He was watching over us. He said I don't have to be scared."
Ivy tilted her head. "Scared of what?"
Flora paused, then leaned in and whispered, "The lady."
Before Ivy could ask more, Flora skipped away, humming as she drew a smiley face in bright blue chalk.
That evening, after dinner, Kate was reading in the study. Ivy wandered the halls again, telling herself it was curiosity—but deep down, she knew it wasn't just that.
She stopped when she saw a door slightly ajar beside her bedroom. She was sure it had been closed before.
Her hand hesitated, then pushed it open.
It was a small room, bare except for a bookshelf and a single chair by the window. But the strange part was the smell—it was faintly like his cologne. She recognized it from when Miles passed her in the hallways. Sharp, expensive. Too mature for a boy his age.
Then she noticed something else.
A single item sat on the bookshelf: a framed photo of Flora and Miles as children. The frame was cracked, but it had been dusted. Recently.
Someone had been here.
"You found my space."
Ivy turned quickly. Miles stood in the doorway, arms crossed, half-smiling.
"I didn't mean to—" she started.
He stepped inside, slow and confident, like the room obeyed him.
"It's alright," he said smoothly. "You're the first one I've ever let in here."
Ivy's heart thudded. "I didn't know it was yours."
He walked past her, picked up the frame, and stared at it.
"She's everything to me, you know," he said, voice quieter. "My sister."
Ivy said nothing.
Then he turned to face her, his gaze intense. "I've been watching you."
Her breath caught.
"I mean," he continued, "Not in a creepy way." He gave a soft chuckle. "Just... you're different. Not like the others."
"The others?" she echoed.
"The other babysitters. They were boring. You're... interesting."
Ivy shifted uncomfortably. "You barely talk to me."
"I observe." His smile was calm, but his eyes—those cold, unreadable eyes—didn't leave hers. "You like mirrors, don't you?"
She frowned. "No. Not really."
He took a step closer. "But you looked into it. The broken one."
She felt the hairs on her arms rise.
"I saw you go in," he added. "That room isn't for you."
"Then why did you smile when I told you I was there?" she asked.
He shrugged slowly. "Because I was wondering if it would change you."
Silence fell between them.
Then he reached out and gently tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.
"You look better without your hair in your face," he said softly.
Ivy froze.
He let his fingers linger on her cheek for a second too long before pulling away.
"I should go," she whispered, her voice shaking slightly.
Miles tilted his head. "Of course."
But as she stepped past him, he added, "Sweet dreams, Ivy."
She didn't tell Kate what happened. She didn't know how.
That night, she couldn't sleep again.
The wind howled softly outside her window, and every creak in the floorboards made her jump.
At 2:43 AM, she heard it.
A faint knock.
Not at her door.
At the wall behind her bed.
Three slow taps.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
She stared into the dark.
Her bed shared a wall with the small room Miles called "his space."
The tapping stopped. Silence returned.
But Ivy didn't sleep.
And part of her... didn't want to.