The air hung heavy, thick with moisture and something unseen, pressing against the skin like a second layer, creeping into the lungs with each slow, measured breath. The cellar had shrunk in the hours they had spent in it, the walls closing in, squeezing what little space remained until it was no longer just a room - it was a maw, gaping and hollow, swallowing them whole.

  Sandra lay curled up in the scattered straw, her breathing slow, and steady, but her mind far from calm. Sleep had eluded her, slipping from her grasp each time she came close, leaving her trapped in that endless space between waking and dreaming. Her eyelashes fluttered against her pale skin, her body unmoving, her senses straining against the stillness. Waiting.

  Gemini sat beside her, her posture loose, relaxed, one leg tucked beneath her, the other stretched out lazily, her arms draped over her knee with an ease that belied the unnatural stillness in her fingers. They rested lightly against Sandra's ribs, a touch that might have been comforting had it not felt so possessive, so calculated. The way her fingers moved - just slightly, barely more than a whisper against the thin fabric of Sandra's nightgown - sent a slow shiver down Sandra's spine.

  "You feel it too," Gemini murmured, her voice barely breaking the still air. Sandra's fingers twitched. The room exhaled around her.

  The silence wasn't empty. It pulsed, thick and suffocating, charged with something neither of them dared to name. Sandra's voice was soft, hesitant. "I don't know what you mean."

  Gemini hummed, a low, knowing sound. Unconvinced. She leaned in, her breath a phantom against Sandra's temple, stirring the stray hairs on her cheek, its warmth stark against the cool of the room.

  "You do," she whispered.

  Sandra shivered - not from the cold, not from fear, but from something deeper, something that lived beneath the surface of her skin, something ancient and waiting. Gemini's fingers trailed upward, a bare touch against Sandra's collarbone, and for a moment, a single breath of hesitation stretched between them.

  Then Sandra turned her head just enough. Gemini smiled.

  The power was never there. It wasn't in force or struggle or desperate grasping. It was in surrender. And Sandra began to surrender. Not completely. Not yet. But soon.

  Above them, the house groaned, a long, aching sound that seemed to settle in the very bones of the building. Sandra's lips parted. "Someone's coming."

  Gemini's fingers slid down to rest lightly against the soft curve of her throat. A pulse beneath her fingertips. Steady. Strong. Alive. Her voice was soft, laced with something dangerously close to affection.

  "Let it."

  The walls wept.

  Thin streams of water seeped from the cracks in the stone, winding down in slow, glistening trickles like veins exposed beneath pale skin. The damp smell of decay thickened, heavy, and suffocating, clinging to every surface, filling the room with the unmistakable stench of putrefaction. The straw beneath them had long since gone sour, curling at the edges with the dampness, the musty air laced with the sharp taste of mold.

  A rat lay motionless in a shallow puddle near the far wall, its small body bloated, its fur slick with stagnant water. Its mouth was open, yellowed teeth bared in a low growl. Sandra's breath caught in her throat. It hadn't been there before. She was sure of it.

  The puddles had always been there. The slow, creeping damp that crept through the cracks, the mold, the suffocating weight of it all - those were things she had learned to ignore. But not the rat. The rat was new.

  Her fingers curled into the straw, the candle beside her flickering erratically, its feeble flame trying to hold on. She had always been able to pretend. Ignore the wrong. But now, it was impossible.

  Because she saw things.

  Subtle things. Small, almost imperceptible changes. The way the puddles refused to reflect the candlelight properly. The way the walls seemed to shift, the stone pulsing as if it were breathing. And Gemini's shadow...

  Sandra swallowed hard and forced herself to turn her head, her eyes gingerly scanning the room next to her. Gemini sat motionless, her back against the damp wall, one knee propped up, her arms resting loosely across it. The candlelight barely touched her, leaving her in near darkness, but Sandra could see the details well enough.

  The sharp line of Gemini's jaw, the small part of her lips, as if waiting for words yet unspoken. The damp strands of dark hair clung to her neck. But the shadow stretched in the wrong way.

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  Not jagged, not shifting with the flickering light as it should have. It lagged. A split second behind her every move, as if waiting to catch up.

  Sandra's breath caught. She clenched her hands in her lap, fingers twisting in the fabric of her nightgown. It was the candle. It had to be the candle. The angle. The light was weak, that was all. That had to be all.

  Then Gemini turned her head, slowly.

  And the shadow did not move.

  Sandra inhaled sharply.

  Gemini smiled, slow and knowing. "You're staring," she murmured, her voice curling around the words like smoke.

  Sandra's stomach dropped. She tore her eyes away, fixing them instead on the damp floorboards. Gemini laughed softly and stretched her legs out, the hem of her dress brushing through the dirty straw.

  The air pushed in, thick and relentless. Outside, the wind howled against the walls of the farmhouse, rattling the loose window panes in their frames. Something creaked above them. Slowly. Deliberate. Footsteps.

  Gemini exhaled, a sound of lazy amusement. "The man."

  Sandra nodded and said nothing. Gemini watched her, head tilted, expression unreadable. "You're not afraid of him."

  Sandra shook her head. She didn't know why, only that she wasn't.

  Gemini smiled. "That's good."

  She leaned in, her voice falling low, soft, as a whisper meant for no one but her. "But you're afraid of me."

  Sandra's breath caught. She forced herself to look up, to meet those shining eyes, to hold her ground.

  Even though she already knew - Gemini was right.

  —————

  Lea sat at the kitchen table, her fingers tapping lightly on the scarred wood, the rhythm slow, deliberate, thoughtful. The house was filled with the damp smell of wet earth and old iron, the way it always was after a storm, the way it lingered long after the rain had stopped. The downpour had ended sometime before dawn, leaving the ground outside a thick, sticky mess of mud, the kind that stuck to boots and refused to let go. The floorboards bore witness to Maddox's last venture outside, smeared with damp prints, a thin trail of muddy water snaking toward the door. It would dry soon, but the smell of rotting leaves and disturbed earth would cling to the walls, a reminder of the storm's passing.

  Lea hated moisture. It softened things and made them feel fragile, weak, and breakable.

  Across from her, Maddox sat with the ease of a man who had never once been bothered by the weight of the world, his long frame slumped lazily in the chair, shirt half unbuttoned, collar down. He nursed a cup of coffee in one hand, his free fingers running absently through his curls, the movement slow, almost idle. Too comfortable.

  Lea narrowed her eyes. "You like her."

  Maddox barely looked up. "Who?"

  Lea scoffed, unimpressed. Maddox let out a soft chuckle and set the coffee down with a thud. "The little one?" He stretched, the shift of his shoulders pulling at the fabric of his shirt, revealing a sliver of bare skin. "She's fine."

  Lea's jaw tightened.

  She had always understood Maddox, better than anyone, better than himself. She could tell when he was lying when he was hiding something. And now? He wasn't hiding. He wasn't even trying. And that was worse. A long time ago, they - no, Lea - had decided that they wouldn't have children. They had no place in their world, no use in their profession. And yet here was this girl, twisting something in Maddox that had no business being twisted.

  Which meant he didn't care enough.

  Lea tapped her nails on the table, slow and deliberate. "She's got a mouth on her."

  Maddox grinned. "She does."

  Lea leaned forward slightly, her eyes never leaving his. "And her sister?"

  Maddox tilted his head, pondering. Then he shrugged.

  Lea didn't like that answer. She watched him closely, waiting for something flicker of doubt, a hesitation Maddox just looked at her, and then he smiled. A slow, lazy one. The kind of smile that belonged to a man who trusted her completely. And that made something in Lea's chest tighten. Because Maddox was warm. He could be soft. But he wasn't a fool.

  This meant that if he didn't doubt Gemini, she was hiding something he couldn't see.

  Lea breathed in slowly and exhaled through her nose. Fine. She'd see for herself. Standing, she smoothed out the creases in her blouse and adjusted her gloves. "I'm going downstairs."

  Maddox's grin didn't fade. "Try not to be too hard on her," he murmured.

  Lea's lips curled. "Where's the fun in that?"

  The door swung open with a slow, prolonged creak.

  Lea descended the stairs, one measured step at a time. The lantern in her grip swayed with her movements, its flickering light carving deep shadows into the damp stone walls. The air was thicker than before. Heavy. Closer. As if it had been waiting for her.

  Her boots hit the packed earth, soft with damp rot.

  Sandra flinched at the sudden movement, and curled up, her fingers buried deep in the straw, gripping it so tightly her knuckles were white. But her eyes - sharp, bright, too knowing for a child - flickered up at Lea from under heavy lashes. Lea ignored her. She was here for the other.

  Gemini sat exactly where she had been before, her back pressed against the cold stone, her legs stretched out lazily. The hem of her dress was damp, stained where mud had crept in, but she didn't seem to care. She didn't look at Lea right away. Instead, she tilted her head and listened. To the house above. To the wind outside. To the silence. Then, slow as molasses, she turned her eyes to Lea. And smiled.

  The smile was wrong. Not because it was forced. Not because it was mocking. Because it was patient. As if Gemini had been expecting it. Lea stepped forward. The chain on Sandra's ankle rattled as the girl drew back, but Gemini didn't flinch. Didn't move.

  She lowered the lantern slightly, letting the light fall across Gemini's face, her cheekbones sharp in the glow. She was too quiet. Lea studied her, fingers curled against the handle of the lantern, waiting. But Gemini's smile stayed in place, smooth and unflappable, as if she were the one in control. As if Lea was the guest down here, not her.

  "You slept well." It wasn't a question.

  Gemini exhaled slowly, stretching her arms over her head like a cat. "Better than you, I bet."

  Lea arched a brow. "Is that so?" Gemini grinned. "You check on me first."

  Lea went silent. Only for a second. She could feel Sandra's eyes on her now, wide and alert. Watching the way Gemini and Lea circled each other, how the space between them felt tight, charged with something unsaid.

  Lea glanced at Sandra. "Your sister is smart. She doesn't talk much."

  Sandra's shoulders tensed. Gemini leaned forward slightly, resting her arms on her knees. "She's smart enough to know when to listen." Lea's lips curled into something small. Sharp. "Are you?" she murmured.

  Gemini held her gaze. Unblinking. Unafraid. "I guess we'll find out." Lea tilted her head, thinking. Gemini thought she was testing something. But Lea had been playing games long before this girl had ever taken a breath. And she always won.