Between the Walls

A narrow draft curled down the back of Sloane’s neck as she stepped away from the wall, pulse still caught between disbelief and recognition. The room seemed smaller now, as if sensing its discovery and retreating inward. Theo stood beside the sealed door, his brow drawn, hands grazing the edge of the wood as though he could will it open again.

Theo tried the door again.

Nothing.

No resistance. No lock. Just absence. Where an opening had been moments ago, now stood smooth wall, seamless and unmoved.

“It closed behind us,” Sloane said, voice low. Not frightened. Observant.

Theo ran his hand along the wood paneling, jaw tense. “No mechanism.”

“Or none we’re meant to find.”

They stood in the hush, the house listening.

Then Sloane’s gaze shifted to the opposite wall. Her hand brushed along the baseboard until it knocked against something hollow.

Theo stepped beside her, crouched. “There.”

A faint line, almost imperceptible. He pressed the edge and a narrow panel popped open with a quiet click.

Dust spilled from the seam like breath held too long.

It wasn’t a door so much as a passage. Cramped, uneven, sloped downward slightly before it curved. A servant’s crawlspace, maybe. Or something older, something built before the house knew itself.

Theo stepped in first, ducking his head. Sloane followed.

The way was tight. Their shoulders brushed. She held the hem of her coat close to keep from snagging it on the splintered frame.

Neither spoke as they moved forward.

It wasn’t long, maybe ten steps, maybe twenty before the corridor began to rise again. The angle of the floor shifted subtly. Then the wood gave way to stone. The air thinned.

At last, Theo found another seam in the wall.

He pressed it.

A groan. Then a small door swung open, this time into familiar shadows.

The west wing.

They stepped out into the hallway.

Theo exhaled.

He closed the hidden panel behind them and ran a hand through his hair, damp with sweat and dust.

Sloane leaned against the wall, blinking as if adjusting to the light. Her hair clung slightly to her temples, and she reached up to wipe the back of her neck. There was soot on her fingers.

She looked over at him, eyes searching his. “Do you think she meant for us to find that?”

“Lenore?”

She nodded.

Theo hesitated. “It wasn’t the first time she’s shown someone the way.”

Sloane tilted her head. “You?”

He nodded. “Years ago. She didn’t speak then, either. Just… looked at me. I think she’s been waiting.”

“For what?”

He didn’t answer. Not because he didn’t want to but because he wasn’t sure.

They walked in silence again back toward the staircase. As they moved, Sloane glanced at one of the old framed mirrors along the hall. Nothing flickered behind her this time, but she still looked twice.

Theo opened the door to the main hall. Evening light spilled across the tiles now, softened to amber and gold. Somewhere deeper in the house, a clock struck six.

They stepped into the corridor, their footsteps echoing slightly. The air was cooler here, grounded in the mundane once again but just barely. That other space still clung to them like damp linen.

Sloane slowed near the base of the stairs. “You said earlier you saw Lenore when you were a child. You followed her into the wing.”

Theo nodded. “I never told anyone. Thought it was a dream for years.”

“What changed?”

He glanced toward the west hall behind them. “Coming back here. Seeing her again. Then seeing you.”

Sloane met his gaze, something flickering behind her eyes, not surprise, exactly. Recognition.

“The drawings,” she said softly. “You didn’t question them. Not really.”

“No.”

She stepped closer. “Why?”

Theo’s voice lowered. “Because I’ve seen them before.”

Her breath caught. “Where?”

“In my head. In memories I couldn’t place until now.”

They stood at the foot of the stairs. Sloane looked up toward the upper levels. Light dappled the bannister. Specks of dust floated, gold and slow.

She crossed her arms, fingers brushing the edge of her wrist. “I don’t know what’s happening to me.”

Theo studied her. “Maybe you’re remembering.”

She didn’t look at him when she said, “I don’t want this to be madness.”

“It isn’t.”

“How do you know?”

He was quiet for a moment… “Because I see it, too.”

Their eyes locked.

A beat passed.

But Theo didn’t move. Didn’t reach for her. The moment was too thin. Like lace over glass. Beautiful. Fragile.

Instead, he turned toward the drawing room. “Come on. You need a drink.”

Sloane hesitated. Then followed.