“Claire, are you up there?”
My breath hitched. Marcus’s voice drifted up the attic steps, steady and smooth. Too smooth. I shot a glance at the trunk, its cracked lid barely closed. You should’ve been faster. My heartbeat roared in my ears as I crouched lower behind the dusty crates.
The old floorboards creaked beneath my weight. Each sound felt like a betrayal. I gritted my teeth, biting down in panic.
“What are you doing, Claire?”
The second call was closer. He was climbing. I could hear the heavy thud of his boots on the steps, each one deliberate. A chill slithered through me.
He couldn’t find me here—not like this. My fingers fumbled for the letters, shoving them deeper into my coat pocket.
A shadow stretched across the attic floor, long and jagged in the dim moonlight. I froze. His silhouette filled the doorway. For one agonizing second, the attic fell silent. No wind. No breath. Only Marcus’s figure, unnervingly still.
“Thought I heard something,” he murmured.
His voice was soft, but it cut like glass. I sank further behind the crates, my heart rattling against my ribs. Go away. My mind screamed it over and over. My knees ached from holding still, but I didn’t move.
Marcus stepped into the attic, his boots scraping against the wood. Slow. Methodical. He lingered just feet away, his gaze sweeping the room.
“Claire,” he called again, quieter now, almost coaxing. “What are you hiding?”
I clenched my jaw to stifle the shaky breath threatening to escape. His words curled around me like a noose. Marcus always had a way of knowing things—of seeing too much. He was Elena’s shadow, her hound, loyal to her and no one else.
A sudden thud broke the silence. My pulse leapt as Marcus bent down, lifting an old toy—a wooden horse—from the floor. His fingers traced its edge absentmindedly.
“You shouldn’t be sneaking around,” he said, his tone dropping. “It’s dangerous.”
My stomach turned. The warning wasn’t a threat. It was a promise.
He straightened, holding the toy for a moment before setting it back down with a hollow clatter. My fingers dug into the dusty crate as I held perfectly still. Leave.
“Elena doesn’t like secrets,” Marcus muttered to himself.
A bitter taste filled my mouth. Of course she didn’t. Secrets were the only thing that could tear her perfect mask apart. I shifted my weight an inch, wincing as the wood groaned softly beneath me.
Marcus’s head snapped up.
My blood ran cold. He turned his face toward the shadows where I hid, his eyes narrowing—searching. My heart dropped into my stomach. I held my breath so tightly it burned.
Seconds stretched into forever. Then, finally—mercifully—he turned toward the trunk. My pulse hammered wildly as he knelt beside it.
Don’t open it. Please don’t open it.
“Strange,” he muttered. “This wasn’t open before.”
My body turned to stone. Marcus gripped the trunk lid, pulling it open with an agonizing groan. My throat tightened as he peered inside, his expression unreadable in the dim light.
Then he froze.
“Claire?”
His voice was no longer smooth. It was sharp, cutting through the silence like a blade. He knew. Somehow, he knew someone had been here. I couldn’t breathe.
Marcus straightened abruptly. His shadow loomed as he turned, scanning the attic one last time.
“Next time, I’ll find you.”
The threat dripped from every word. My nails bit into my palms as Marcus finally retreated, his boots echoing down the steps. I stayed frozen, the silence screaming in my ears until his footsteps vanished entirely.
Only then did I let the breath I’d been holding escape, shaky and raw. My hands trembled as I pulled the letters from my coat pocket, clutching them to my chest. My mind raced.
Elena knew. She always knew. About Sarah. About what happened that day.
And Marcus… he wasn’t just watching me. He was hunting me.
I shoved the letters deeper into my coat and stood on unsteady legs. My knees ached as I crept toward the attic steps, listening for any sound below. It was quiet. Too quiet. I couldn’t stay here.
As I slipped down the steps, the house seemed to hold its breath. Shadows clung to the walls, stretching unnaturally. Elena’s portrait stared down at me from the hallway—cold. Condemning.
I paused, my pulse racing.
“She’s watching you,” I whispered to myself.
And somehow, I knew—Elena wasn’t the only one.
The floor creaked behind me.
I turned, my blood turning to ice.
Someone was there.
