The next morning came with fog that clung to the windows like breath. Ivy sat in bed longer than usual, unsure whether she had really heard the knocks last night... or if her mind had played tricks on her.
She finally got up and noticed something strange on her bedside table.
A black ribbon.
Neatly folded. Velvet. Unfamiliar.
It hadn't been there before.
She picked it up slowly, glancing around her room. The door was still locked—she remembered turning the key last night.
Ivy ran her fingers across the ribbon's soft fabric, heart thumping.
"Miles."
It was the first thought that came to her. She didn't know how she knew. She just knew.
And somehow, it made her chest tighten.
At breakfast, Ivy barely touched her food. Flora was drawing pictures with jam on her toast, humming a strange tune Ivy didn't recognize.
Kate looked exhausted. Her hair was tied messily back, and dark circles shadowed her eyes.
"I need a day in town," she said quietly to Mrs. Grose, who was pouring tea. "To clear my head."
"Of course, Miss Mandell," the housekeeper replied. "I can watch over the children."
"Ivy can help too," Kate added. "She's wonderful with Flora."
Ivy smiled faintly, but her thoughts were elsewhere.
The ribbon burned in her pocket.
Later, Ivy was in the garden with Flora, pretending to pay attention to her stories about frogs and fairies. But her eyes kept drifting toward the upper windows of Bly.
She felt it.
A gaze.
Like someone was watching her.
When she looked up, a curtain shifted.
Her stomach tightened.
Back inside, Ivy wandered to the hallway again. She wasn't sure what she was looking for, until she passed his room again—the small room beside hers. The door was wide open now.
Inside, everything was just as she left it.
Except for a single thing.
A drawing.
Pinned to the wall with a silver pushpin.
It was of her.
Rough pencil strokes, sketched quickly but clearly her face—her eyes, her hair, the way she twisted her fingers when nervous.
The sight knocked the air from her lungs.
He had drawn her.
But why?
"I did it last night."
Ivy jumped.
Miles stood behind her, leaning casually against the doorway. "Hope you don't mind."
"You... you came into my room," she whispered.
He didn't deny it.
"I wanted to give you something. You looked lonely."
His voice was gentle. Almost sweet. But the words held something else beneath.
Possession.
Obsession.
Ivy stared at the drawing. "Why?"
"Because I like looking at you."
He stepped closer.
"I think about you when you're not around. I imagine what you're doing. What you're wearing. If you're thinking about me too."
Her breathing hitched.
"Miles, that's—"
"Too much?" he asked softly.
She didn't answer.
He reached into his pocket and pulled out something small.
A bracelet. Worn leather, tied in a loop.
"It was mine," he said. "When I was younger. I want you to have it."
She stared at it, then slowly reached out and took it. Their fingers touched.
He held her hand for just a second longer than necessary.
Then he smiled.
"Now you have a piece of me."
That night, Ivy lay in bed with the ribbon tied loosely in her hair and the bracelet around her wrist. She kept telling herself to take them off. That it was weird. That she should tell Kate. That this wasn't normal.
But she didn't.
She curled up and held the pillow tight.
And for the first time...
...she wanted to see him again.