10/10/1910

  A dense fog clung to the narrow, uneven streets of Black Hollow like a living thing, its damp tendrils creeping along the cobblestones and swallowing the night in a suffocating embrace. The gas lamps, their weak flames flickering and struggling against the murky gloom, cast feeble pools of yellow light that barely reached beyond the iron posts. Somewhere in the distance, a dog barked—a single, sharp note—before silence devoured the sound once more, leaving only the weight of an unnatural hush that pressed down like a vice.

  Lea adjusted her gloves, her fingers smoothing over the supple leather as she surveyed the empty street. It was always empty at this hour. The people of Black Hollow knew better than to linger once the sun had bled out beyond the hills, leaving only darkness to reign. Across from her, Maddox shifted where he sat in the wagon, the wooden slats groaning beneath his weight. He was hunched forward, elbows resting on his knees, the brim of his hat pulled low enough to shroud his face in shadow. He exhaled slowly, the vapor of his breath curling into the cold night air, but he didn't shiver. He was motionless, save for the rhythmic twitch of his fingers—restless, waiting.

  Lea's gaze flickered toward the house across the street. Number 23 Rosewood Lane. Pale yellow paint, white trim, a porch swing swaying ever so slightly in the breeze that barely stirred the night. It looked like every other home on this street—charming, safe, the kind of place where laughter should spill from open windows and the scent of freshly baked bread should linger on the air. But they knew better.

  Inside, the mother toiled away at the mill, her night shift keeping her occupied until dawn. There was no father. Only two girls, alone. Unprotected. Vulnerable.

  Lea flexed her fingers. "She should be asleep by now." Maddox's knee bounced once—a habit, a tell. "Give it another five."

  Lea narrowed her eyes at the upstairs window. The curtains were drawn back just enough to allow the faint glow of candlelight to seep through, a fragile flame flickering in the stillness. Someone was awake. That wasn't supposed to be the case.

  A sharp click of her tongue against her teeth signaled her impatience, and she pushed off the wagon's side. "I'll check."

  She moved like a wraith, her steps silent on the damp stones as she crossed the street, her form slipping through the fog like ink in water. A strange chill slithered up her spine—not from the cold, but from something else, something more primal. The night was too quiet, the air too thick with expectation.

  The porch steps didn't creak beneath her weight, her approach careful, deliberate. From the depths of her coat pocket, her fingers found the damp cloth, the acrid scent of chloroform clinging to the fabric. The girl would go easy. They always did.

  Lea pressed her ear against the door, straining to hear beyond the silence. And then—

  A giggle. Faint, delicate. A child's whisper.

  She stiffened. There shouldn't be whispering. The girl was supposed to be alone.

  Testing the knob, she found it unlocked. A careless mistake in a town that knew better. Slowly, carefully, she pushed the door open and stepped inside, her presence melting into the darkness as she pulled it closed behind her.

  The house smelled of aged wood and something sweet, the lingering ghost of apple preserves thick in the air. A clock ticked steadily in the parlor, each measured beat stretching the silence taut. Overhead, soft footsteps whispered against the floorboards—bare feet, small and light, moving across the upstairs hallway.

  Lea glided forward, her boots making no sound against the worn floor. The staircase loomed ahead, the banister polished to a dull gleam beneath the faint candlelight. She placed a hand on the wood as she ascended, slow and sure, her breath shallow. At the top, the hallway stretched before her, three doors standing in quiet anticipation. The candle's glow flickered from beneath the last one.

  Another giggle. Soft. Close. Something twisted in Lea's gut. A presence. Something she couldn't name.

  She eased the door open just enough to see.

  The room was small, cluttered with childhood trinkets—a dollhouse nestled in the corner, books stacked precariously on a bedside table. A single candle burned beside the bed, its wax pooling onto a chipped saucer. And there, cross-legged atop the mattress, sat the girl.

  Eight, maybe nine. Soft curls framed her round cheeks, her nightgown hanging loosely from her thin shoulders. She looked just as they had expected—small, fragile, unknowing. But she was not alone.

  Another girl sat beside her. Older.

  Dark hair, piercing blue eyes that reflected the candle's flicker too well. She did not lounge like a child at rest, did not fiddle with toys or books. She was watching. Unblinking. Alert. Lea's stomach coiled. Something was wrong.

  Sandra, the younger girl, whispered something. The older girl—Gemini—smiled. Not the innocent smile of a child, but something else, something knowing. A predator's smile.

  Sandra turned then, her gaze landing on the door. Her eyes widened, and she gasped—a tiny, fragile sound. Lea moved.

  The door swung wide, the cloth already in her grasp. Sandra barely had time to flinch before Lea was upon her, pressing the rag to her mouth and nose. The child thrashed weakly, her small limbs trembling with the effort, but it was futile. It always was.

  Lea's eyes flicked upward. Gemini had not moved. Had not reacted. She simply watched. A slow blink. A tilt of the head. Lea's pulse pounded against her ribs.

  The candle snuffed out. Instantly. Not from a breeze. Not from motion. Snuffed. Darkness swallowed the room.

  A breath—cold, wrong—brushed against Lea's neck. The door creaked behind her, a whisper of movement without sound. Gemini was gone.

  Panic lanced through her. She turned sharply, bolting for the stairs with Sandra's limp body in her arms, her boots barely touching the steps as she flew down. The front door loomed, and she crashed through it, her breath ragged, her pulse roaring.

  Maddox was already off the wagon, eyes sharp. "What the hell happened?"

  Lea didn't answer. She hauled Sandra onto the wagon and scrambled up beside her. "Go. Now."

  Maddox didn't hesitate. The reins snapped, the horses rearing before lunging forward, the wagon lurching into motion. The wheels skidded on the slick stones, jostling violently as they sped through the fog-drenched streets.

  Then a whisper. Soft, playful. "You shouldn't have taken her." Lea's blood turned to ice. She whipped her gaze back toward the house. In the upstairs window, barely visible through the shifting mist, stood Gemini. Perfectly still. Perfectly smiling. And then, slowly, deliberately, she raised a hand.

  And waved.

  Lea's breath caught in her throat. Her fingers tightened around the edge of the wagon until they ached.

  Maddox's voice was wary. "What is it?"

  Lea swallowed hard. "Just drive."

  The wagon surged forward, tearing through the thick, clinging fog like a blade through flesh, its heavy wooden wheels biting deep into the mud-soaked road, leaving behind jagged grooves that marked their passage. Behind them, the town of Black Hollow had vanished into the swirling mist, consumed by the oppressive darkness that smothered the land, rendering it a distant memory swallowed whole by the night. The single lantern swinging from the wagon's post offered little aid, its flickering light barely cutting through the murk, its feeble glow a mere whisper against the suffocating black.

  Maddox gripped the reins with white-knuckled intensity, his fingers digging into the worn leather, his hands rigid with tension. The horses sensed it, their large eyes rolling, nostrils flaring wide as they pounded forward, hooves striking the earth with nervous urgency. They were uneasy, shifting unpredictably, muscles bunching beneath their slick coats as though the darkness itself was pressing against their hides, whispering something only they could understand.

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  Beside him, Lea sat motionless, her posture stiff, her presence like iron forged in the cold night air. One gloved hand rested protectively against Sandra's unconscious body, the other buried deep in her coat pocket, fingers curled tightly around the rag that had stolen the girl's breath, the scent of chloroform still clinging to her gloves. She had not spoken since they fled the house, her silence a shroud draped heavy around them, and Maddox, despite himself, found it unsettling.

  His eyes flicked toward her, sharp and searching. "What happened in there?" His voice cut through the night, low and edged with something wary.

  Lea did not answer. Her lips were slightly parted, her breath slow and even, but she was far away—trapped in something unseen, something neither of them could touch. Maddox had seen this before, had witnessed the way she drifted when things went sideways, how she seemed to slip into the cracks of her own mind, lost in thoughts he could never reach. It was rare, but when it happened, it sent a ripple of unease through him. His fingers tightened on the reins, frustration mounting.

  "Lea," he snapped, the sharpness in his tone like a lash of cold steel.

  A breath. A flicker of movement. Then, finally, a murmur. "She moved too fast." Maddox blinked, a frown pulling at his brow. "What?"

  Lea's fingers twitched against the girl's nightgown, her gaze locked straight ahead. "The older one." Her voice was a whisper, brittle as dead leaves. "She didn't run. Didn't scream. Didn't try to stop me." A slow inhale, steady and deliberate. "She just... disappeared."

  Something twisted deep in Maddox's gut, a slow coil of unease winding tighter. Fear—he understood fear. He understood the way it broke people, made them stupid, reckless, desperate. But this? This was something else entirely. He shifted in his seat, stealing a glance at Sandra's small form. Her chest rose and fell in slow, steady rhythm, her fingers twitching slightly, but she remained lost in unconscious oblivion.

  His jaw clenched. He had never liked dealing with kids. But this one—she was predictable, easy to carry, easy to control. The other girl, though... she was a different matter.

  "I didn't see her," Maddox muttered. Lea barely seemed to hear him. "She was watching." The words were soft, laced with something that made his skin crawl.

  Maddox exhaled sharply, shaking his head. "So what? She ran off. Probably hiding under some damn bed, scared out of her mind." Lea said nothing.

  Maddox ground his teeth, shifting his focus back to the road, but the unease remained. The trees loomed on either side, ancient and gnarled, their twisted branches clawing at the sky. The fog curled between them, distorting shapes, making shadows bleed into one another, creating things that should not exist.

  "We should've taken her, too," Maddox muttered, his voice barely more than a growl.

  Lea's fingers tightened in Sandra's nightgown. "No."

  Maddox shot her a sharp look. "No?"

  Finally, Lea turned toward him, her expression unreadable, but her eyes—her eyes were darker than he remembered. "She's not for us."

  A humorless chuckle escaped him. "What the hell does that mean?" Lea didn't blink. "We don't take things we don't understand."

  A cold weight settled in Maddox's ribs. He wanted to argue, wanted to call her ridiculous, but the words stuck, thick and unwieldy. Maybe it was the way she said it. Maybe it was the way the horses kept flicking their ears, their muscles quivering beneath the leather harnesses.

  Maybe it was because deep down, Maddox knew that Lea was never paranoid.

  The wagon hit a rut, jerking violently. Sandra stirred, a soft sound escaping her lips. Maddox swore under his breath, reaching to press her back down. She whimpered, shifting slightly, but did not wake.

  "How much time do we have?" he asked, forcing his voice to stay even.

  Lea inhaled, exhaled, her mind snapping back to the present. "Two days."

  Maddox nodded. That was enough. The buyer would come, the deal would be made, and this entire ordeal would be behind them. He adjusted his hat lower, shielding his eyes. "You sure the mother won't come looking?"

  Lea's expression was flat. "She doesn't have the luxury to. She works two shifts. No one will notice they're gone until it's too late."

  Maddox grunted. "Good." But it didn't feel good.

  The farmhouse loomed through the mist, a skeletal structure perched at the world's edge, forgotten by time. The porch sagged, the windows yawned like hollow mouths, the chimney spewing nothing but ghosts. The horses hesitated. Maddox jumped down, boots sinking into the damp earth, and reached for Sandra. Her body was weightless as he slung her over his shoulder.

  Lea followed, silent. Maddox carried the girl through the warped doorway, past creaking floorboards, down the narrow hall that led to the basement. The air thickened. The lantern swayed from a rusted nail, casting long shadows. He descended, the cold pressing against his skin, the scent of damp stone and old blood filling his lungs. He dropped Sandra onto the straw-covered floor, straightened, cracked his neck.

  Lea moved without a word, lighting the second lantern, pulling the iron chain from the wall. Routine. Precise. Professional.

  Maddox exhaled. "I need a drink."

  He turned for the stairs, his boots heavy against the wood. He didn't look back. Didn't see the way Sandra's fingers twitched, slow, deliberate. Didn't see the way the candle's flame bent - Not from wind.

  And he sure as hell didn't hear the whisper that followed him up the stairs.

  "You shouldn't have taken her."

  The basement door groaned as Lea shut it behind her, sealing off the dim light from the upper floors, entombing them in a suffocating darkness broken only by the flickering glow of the lantern swinging in her grip. The flame wavered in the damp, heavy air, casting elongated shadows that stretched hungrily over the rough stone walls, twisting and curling like silent, watchful specters.

  Sandra lay crumpled on the straw-covered floor, her small frame tangled in her nightgown, the fabric twisted around her legs like a snare, her breath slow, steady—still under, still lost in that unnatural slumber. Lea exhaled through her nose, the sound sharp in the cavernous silence.

  She turned toward the far wall, where an iron bolt was driven deep into the cold stone, its rusted links thick and heavy, coiled in the straw like a sleeping serpent. She crouched, fingers wrapping around the chain, testing its weight in her palm, her movements precise, methodical. Behind her, Maddox leaned against the doorway, arms folded, his shadow stretching across the floor like an omen.

  "You sure about this?" His voice was low, edged with something unreadable.

  Lea shot him a look, the faintest trace of dry amusement in her eyes. "No, I thought we'd just let her wander around freely. Maybe invite her up for tea."

  Maddox didn't smile.

  Lea turned back to the girl, grabbing her delicate wrist, fastening the iron cuff around her ankle with a swift, practiced motion. The lock clicked into place. A precaution, simple but necessary. Some woke violently—thrashing, screaming, fighting with the desperate strength of the lost. Not that it mattered. No one would hear her here. But adrenaline did strange things to people, made them stronger than they had any right to be. Best not to take chances.

  Lea stood, brushing straw from her gloves. Maddox's fingers drummed absently against his forearm. "Still out?" he muttered.

  "For now." Lea glanced at the girl's fingers, watching the faint twitch, the slow stir of unconscious thought turning over into wakefulness. "Not for much longer."

  Maddox exhaled sharply. "I'll stay down here."

  "No." His brows lifted. "No?"

  Lea gave him a flat look, her tone cool. "You hovering won't help. She wakes up, she cries, she panics, then she stops panicking. Same as always." She stepped toward the stairs, her boots whispering against the stone. "Get some sleep. You look like shit."

  Maddox didn't move. "And the other one?" Lea's grip tightened around the lantern's handle. "She's gone."

  He didn't reply, but the weight of his unease pressed against her back like a silent accusation. She climbed the stairs without looking at him. The door swung shut. The lock slid into place. And in the pressing dark, Sandra woke.

  Her eyelids fluttered, lashes sticking together, her mouth dry, her thoughts slow and thick, like wading through deep water. The world swam, tilting and swaying, nausea curling in her stomach as she struggled to move. Something clinked—a cold, unyielding weight around her ankle. Metal. A chain. Her breath hitched in her throat.

  She sat up too fast. The room lurched. Darkness pressed against her, suffocating and endless. The floor beneath her was rough, scattered with damp straw. The air smelled of earth, of wet stone, of something ancient and unmoving. Not home. Not safe. Then, movement.

  A shadow peeled itself from the deeper blackness, slow and deliberate, shifting at the edge of her vision. Her pulse hammered.

  "Gemini?" she whispered, voice cracking. Silence.

  And then, a response, soft as a breath. "Shhh."

  Sandra froze, every muscle locking tight. The darkness around her breathed. She wasn't alone.

  A shape sat in the farthest corner, cross-legged, watching. Sandra's eyes adjusted, the candlelight from the stairwell stretching just far enough to catch the tips of bare feet—small, childlike, but wrong. Her stomach twisted. The voice had been soft, too soft. The way a whisper slips beneath a door.

  "Who are you?" Sandra's voice barely crept past her lips, her breath a fragile, shaking thing. The figure tilted its head. "They shouldn't have taken you."

  Sandra's pulse roared in her ears. The room seemed to shrink, pressing in. Her fingers curled into the straw, searching for something solid, something real. "Where's my sister?" she forced out, her voice thin, cracking on the last word.

  A pause. Too long. Too still. Then, a hum. Low, soft. A tune she knew. Familiar. Old.

  Her skin prickled. Her stomach knotted tight. The hum slithered through the darkness, curling around her ribs like fingers. She had heard it before—but not from Gemini.

  Something shifted beside her. Close. Closer than it had been.

  She turned sharply, but the candle at her side died.

  Not flickered. Not wavered. Just—snuffed. Swallowed whole.

  Sandra's breath hitched. Darkness enveloped her, thick and choking. The air moved, warm and damp, brushing against her cheek, the way someone might lean in close, their breath ghosting over her skin. But there was no one there.

  A whisper curled against her ear. "I see you."

  Sandra screamed.

  The basement door slammed open.

  Light flooded down the stairs, shattering the black, spilling over the stone walls in jagged, flickering lines. Sandra gasped, her body trembling, the chain rattling as she pulled her knees to her chest.

  Maddox stood in the doorway, lantern held high, his silhouette sharp, unmoving. "What the hell was that?"

  Sandra couldn't answer. Her lungs heaved, her fingers digging into the straw, her body coiled so tight it ached. Maddox exhaled sharply, boots striking heavy against the floor as he descended, the lantern's glow throwing erratic shadows across the walls.

  He stopped a few feet away, scanning the corners, the ceiling, the empty space where something had just been. His expression remained unreadable. "You have a nightmare, kid?"

  Sandra shook her head violently. "No. There was—"

  Maddox studied her, his face flickering between irritation and something else. Something quieter. Something close to doubt.

  His gaze flicked toward the farthest corner, just for a second.

  Then he straightened. "Go back to sleep."

  light."

  Maddox paused at the top step, back still turned.

  "Don't worry," he said quietly. "I wasn't planning to."

  The door shut behind him.

  Sandra stayed curled against the wall, breath shuddering, fingers clenched. She wasn't alone. And whatever was in here with her—

  It was still watching.