CHAPTER 6: His voice in the dark

The cold hits me first.

Not the gentle bite of winter wind… but something sharper, more deliberate. Like a hand made of frost pressing against the back of my neck. My breath catches, forming a thin cloud in the dim hallway as I stare at the smeared handprint on the window. It’s still wet. Still fresh.

Aunty Ruby freezes behind me. I hear the soft clink of the revolver at her side and the barely-there inhale she tries to hide.

He was here,” I whisper.

“No.” Ruby steps forward, shielding me with his arm. “He’s near. That’s worse.”

I want to step closer to the window, to press my palm over the ghostly mark, to prove to myself that this isn’t some hallucination my fear painted onto the glass. But my body refuses to move. My heart is punching up into my throat.

Because I know what I heard,what I felt.

His voice,low, unearthly, threaded into the wind,still coils inside my head.

Liora…

Three syllables spoken with too much familiarity. Too much ownership.

I swallow hard. “Aunty Ruby… how did he know my name?” Her jaw tightens, a flash of guilt passing through his eyes so quickly I almost miss it. “Now isn’t the time.”

“The hell it is,” I snap, surprising even myself. “A thing you refuse to explain keeps showing up at windows and whispering my name like a bedtime prayer. And you still expect silence?”

She says nothing.But silence tells stories too.

A sudden crack,like a branch snapping,shatters the hallway.

Ruby pushes me back. “Get behind me. Now.”

The lodge lights flicker once. Twice. Then the hallway plunges into total darkness.

My lungs squeeze tight. “Ruby…” “Stay close,” she commands.

I hear her flick the gun’s safety off. Her shoes shift across the wooden floorboards, slow, measured. I cling to the fabric of his coat because the dark is too complete, too suffocating. It feels… intentional.

Like someone took the light.Not a power outage.

Not a random malfunction. A choice.

Another crack echoes from the far side of the lodge,louder, like something heavy hitting the snow-laden porch.

Ruby curses under her breath. “she’s testing the perimeter.” “she?” I whisper.

His silence answers me again.

A cold gust sweeps into the hallway, and for one impossible second, I swear I see him,the stranger from the snow,outlined in the darkness. Tall. Too still. Eyes burning with a blue so bright it could’ve been carved from lightning.

I blink— And he’s gone.

Ruby must have sensed it too because she grabs my wrist and pulls me toward the staircase. “We’re going downstairs. Reinforced doors. No windows.”

“But my parents—”

“They’re already in the cellar.”

I stumble after her, legs shaking. My hand brushes the wall as we move, searching for some anchor in the suffocating dark. The air grows colder with every step, like we’re descending into winter itself.

The lodge creaks,or breathes,I can’t tell which.Something scrapes along the outside wall,a slow drag, like claws gliding across wood.

My pulse stutters.

“What does he want?” My voice is barely a breath. “Why is he after me?”

Ruby stops mid-step. I bump into him, my hands braced against his back.

He turns, and though I can’t see his face, I can feel the weight of what he’s finally ready to say.

“He isn’t after you,” Ruby murmurs. “He’s claiming you.” My stomach drops. “I….I don’t understand. Claiming me for what?”

“For what your blood promises,” he says quietly. “For what it owes.”

A sudden thud,directly above us,makes the staircase vibrate. I choke on a scream, my fingers digging into Ruby's coat.

She moves faster.

We reach the bottom step, and Ruby pushes me into the narrow stone corridor leading to the cellar door. The flashlight clipped to the wall flickers to life for only a second,but in that second, I see Ruby’s face.

She’s terrified,not cautious,not tense,terrified.

“Ruby,” I breathe, “you know what he is.”

“Yes,” she admits. “And so would you… if your mother had told you the truth.”

“My mother?” My voice cracks. “She knew about him?”

Ruby grips my shoulders. “Listen to me. You are not to open the door for anything. Not for any voice. Not for any promise. He will sound familiar. He will sound gentle. Do not believe him.”

Gentle. My mind flinches.

The stranger’s voice in the snow had been anything but gentle. It had been… hungry.

The scraping outside grows louder, circling the lodge. My heart races so violently it hurts.

Rowan pulls a key from his pocket and unlocks the cellar door. “Inside.”

“Wait….what about you?”

“I’ll hold him off.”

“No!” I grab her arm. “Ruby, he whispered my name. He wants me. If you go out there…” “I’ve faced him before,” he cuts in sharply.

I freeze.

“What?” His jaw clenches. “Go. Liora, please.” I hesitate,but another slam from upstairs makes the decision for me. Ruby shoves me gently into the cellar and shuts the door. The lock clicks.

Darkness. Then— Liora!!

His voice slides through the keyhole like smoke.I clutch my chest. “No… no…”

Little winter flame, he whispers, rich and smooth as velvet. Did you like my gift?

“Gift?” My breath shakes,who the hell would want to receive a gift from you,I pondered in myself.

The handprint,the darkness,the whispers.

You saw me, he continues, tone curling with satisfaction. And you came to the window. You always come to me.

“No, I didn’t—” You will, he says, certainty dripping from every syllable. You always do.

My hands tremble uncontrollably. My back hits the cold stone wall as I retreat deeper into the cellar. I can’t see him. I can’t see anything. But his presence presses against the door like a storm waiting to break through.

Do not be afraid of me, he croons. Your fear is inherited. Not earned.

A beat.

Open the door, Liora. Let me see you.

My knees buckle. “Go away.” His chuckle is soft… and wrong.

Soon then. Very soon.

A sudden, violent bang rattles the door—and then the cold vanishes. His presence evaporates like mist pulled back by the wind.

Silence falls. My chest heaves. My palms sting where my nails dug into them.

Above me, the lodge groans… and Ruby shouts something muffled, urgent.

Then— Another voice.

Not the Winter King. My mother.

“Liora! Open the door, sweetie, it’s safe now!”

Relief surges through me,I take a step toward the door

Then freeze.

Because she uses the wrong nickname.My mother has never,ever,called me sweetie.

My blood turns to ice,and the last thing I hear before the lights flicker back on is that same soft, velvet voice whispering through the wood:

Good girl.