Yvette’s breath caught in her throat.“Through me?”Cara’s voice had changed. It wasn’t her usual soft cadence. It was distant—like the echo of someone else speaking through a tunnel of time.Tristan moved slowly toward the child. “Yvette, don’t touch her yet. He’s… close.”Yvette ignored him and dropped to her knees beside the bed. “Cara, sweetheart, listen to me. Whatever you’re hearing, whatever you’re feeling—it’s not real. It’s not you.”Cara turned her head, eyes locking onto Yvette’s. There was something unnatural about them. The irises shimmered like oil on water—dark, shifting, depthless.“He showed me,” she whispered. “He said you’re the door. He just needs to step through you, and everything will begin again. Better this time. He said you were made for it.”“No.” Yvette shook her head, voice trembling. “No one made me.”“You’re not Elise’s.”Yvette felt her chest split.Tristan stepped forward. “She doesn’t know what she’s saying.”Cara blinked, and the strange shimmer disa
The vault door sealed behind them with a final, metallic groan that echoed into the night like a warning. Ash still clung to Yvette’s clothes. The moonlight slashed through the treetops, casting silver bars across Cara’s pale, sleeping face.She had whispered it just once — “You were never hers.”And now that silence rang louder than any scream.Yvette didn’t speak as Tristan guided them back to the truck. She held Cara tightly, as though afraid letting go might allow something else to slip into the child’s body—something older than memory.Only when they were halfway up the gravel pass did she finally ask, “What did she mean?”Tristan didn’t look at her. His hands gripped the wheel too tightly, knuckles white against the leather.“Don’t do that,” she snapped. “Not now.”He still didn’t answer.Yvette’s voice cracked. “Did you know?”He pulled over abruptly, tires skidding across loose gravel. “Not like that,” he muttered. “Not… all of it.”“Not all of what, Tristan?”He turned slowly
They drove in silence for hours.The sky behind them was streaked with smoke—remnants of the house they’d set ablaze, the vault they’d sealed, the lineage they’d tried to burn to ash. But the fire hadn’t ended anything. Not really.Yvette watched Cara in the rearview mirror, curled beneath a blanket, eyes closed but twitching in her sleep. Not nightmares. Not anymore.Now… dreams. Symbols. Whispers.Tristan drove without music, without distraction, as if the silence was a barrier they couldn’t afford to lower. His jaw clenched so tightly that Yvette wondered if he was grinding memories between his teeth.“Where are we going?” she finally asked.He didn’t look at her. “To a place I hoped I’d never use again.”---The safehouse wasn’t a house.It was a bunker. Built into the cliffs above a frozen lake, hidden beneath moss-covered rock and a fake fishing shack. The air was sharp, alpine-cold. Pines leaned in close, whispering in wind language. The kind of place where things went to sleep
Cara didn’t blink.She lay in bed, eyes wide open, pupils blown, chest barely rising.Yvette hovered above her, whispering her name, brushing hair from her forehead, clinging to a calm she no longer had. “Cara, sweet girl… come back to me. Look at me.”No response. Only her lips moving faintly, as if breathing someone else’s memory.Tristan leaned in. “She’s not asleep.”“I know,” Yvette whispered.“She’s not awake either.”She turned to him, desperate. “Then where is she?”He looked at the ring on her hand. “Wherever she is.”---“Grandmother.”The name echoed inside the house long after Cara said it. It was more than a word. It was a summons.And something heard it.The air grew heavy. The temperature dropped. Even the birds outside went silent.Yvette sat beside Cara, refusing to leave her side. The journal her mother left them lay open on her lap. She scoured the pages for anything—any ritual, any symbol, any hint that could break whatever spell had taken hold.Tristan paced the h
The house was too still.Yvette had grown used to silence—after her mother’s funeral, after the move, after Tristan’s quiet confession—but this was different. This wasn’t the kind of silence that came from peace. This was the hush before something terrible cracked the sky open.The black car had returned.It didn’t idle this time.It stopped at the gate, and three figures stepped out.Yvette stood at the window, heart lodged in her throat. One of them was a woman—tall, draped in a fitted black coat that moved like water. The other two were men. One older, with a scar cutting from temple to jaw. The younger wore gloves and didn’t blink once.Tristan appeared behind her. He’d seen them too.“They’re not just watching now,” he murmured. “They’re here to negotiate.”“Negotiate what?” Yvette asked, though she already knew.He didn’t answer.---They opened the door before the knock came.The woman at the front smiled. “Ms. Hawthorne. Mr. Voss. I appreciate your hospitality in such trying t
The silence inside the vault wasn’t empty.It was listening.Yvette stood frozen in the center of the room, the faint beam from her flashlight trembling in her grip. The child-sized chair in the middle — still bound by its weathered leather straps — pulsed in the shadows like a heart long buried. Around them, the walls were carved with symbols she didn’t recognize, but that Cara somehow drew from memory.Tristan had gone quiet beside her. He hadn’t moved since the door creaked open. His eyes were locked on the chair like it was something alive — like it had teeth.“Is this where they took you?” Yvette asked quietly.He nodded once. “Not this room. But one just like it. And not just me. There were others. Kids like me. We were tested. Groomed. Some didn’t make it out.”Her stomach turned. “And they want Cara to take your place?”“She’s younger than we were. But stronger. That’s why they want her.”Yvette couldn’t breathe.She stepped closer to the wall. Beneath the carvings, part of th