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Chapter 14
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2025-05-16 18:15:25Chapter 14: The Fire She Left Behind
They didn’t speak much on the drive back. Isla watched the trees blur past, their shadows slashing across the windshield like claws. The burned book, the ticking box, the ghostly letter—it all spiraled in her mind like a storm she couldn’t quiet.
Christopher’s knuckles were white around the steering wheel.
“You think it was a bomb?” she asked finally.
“Maybe. Or a warning.” His voice was clipped. “Someone’s playing games.”
“With ghosts,” Isla muttered. “And fire.”
When they arrived back at the apartment, the security system had been tripped.
Christopher checked the cameras and logs—there had been movement. But no entry.
Still, Isla felt watched. As though the air itself was listening.
That night, sleep came late and heavy. She lay awake, staring at the ceiling, tracing the words in Aurelia’s letter in her mind over and over again.
“The one who came before you never left.”
At 3:12 a.m., she couldn’t stay still. She padded barefoot into the kitchen, poured herself a glass of wine, and stared out the window at the moonlit street.
That’s when she felt the presence behind her.
“Couldn’t sleep?” Christopher asked, voice low and rough from sleep.
She turned to face him. “Do you believe in hauntings?”
He leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed. “No. I believe in people with too much power and not enough conscience.”
She smiled faintly. “What if they’re the same?”
They stood there a moment, silent. The heat between them crackled softly—like static from a radio that couldn’t quite tune in.
Then she broke the tension.
“I found another letter.”
His eyes sharpened. “When?”
“In the lining of one of Aurelia’s old books. She used to hide things. Poems. Diary entries. This one was different. It wasn’t meant for me.”
“Who, then?”
Isla swallowed. “For my mother.”
Christopher stepped closer. “What did it say?”
She handed him the paper. It was yellowed, the ink faded but legible.
> “You always loved more fiercely than I could bear. But if the world burns, I want your fingerprints on my ashes. —A.”
He read it twice.
“That’s not friendship,” he muttered.
“No,” Isla whispered. “It’s not.”
The silence stretched again, thick and hot. When she moved to take the letter back, their hands brushed. She didn’t pull away.
Neither did he.
“Isla…” His voice was a warning and a plea.
She met his gaze. “I don’t care.”
He leaned in before he could stop himself. She met him halfway.
Their kiss was slow at first—hesitant, conflicted. But it deepened fast, fueled by grief, rage, confusion, and that unbearable longing that had been simmering for weeks.
Clothes fell to the floor like secrets dropped in the dark.
He carried her to the couch, lips never leaving hers, his hands everywhere, claiming and questioning at once. When he entered her, it wasn’t just physical—it was something raw, something fractured, something forbidden.
She didn’t care.
Not in that moment.
All she felt was him, grounding her as the ghosts howled outside.
---
Hours later, Isla lay against his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart.
“We can’t undo this,” she whispered.
“I know,” Christopher murmured, brushing hair from her cheek. “And I don’t want to.”
She lifted her head to meet his eyes. “Even if it destroys us?”
His jaw clenched. “Some things are worth burning for.”
Her breath hitched.
Before she could respond, her phone vibrated on the table.
One message. Unknown number.
“She left more than a will. You’re not the only one she marked. –E”
Isla’s blood went cold.
Ethan.
He was back.
And he wasn’t done.
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