Page 35

AUTUMN

T he kiss lingered, warm and grounding, Dorian’s breath tangled with hers, his hands splayed against her back like he couldn’t bear to let go.

And she didn’t want him to. But the moment their lips parted, the room tilted .

At first, it was just the air. A tremor barely there, like the house had sucked in a breath and forgotten how to let it go. Then came the chill.

Subtle, at first. A prickle along her arms, a shift in the flicker of the candlelight. Autumn tensed.

She turned her head slowly toward the far corner of the parlor—the one the ward candles hadn’t reached, where the shadows always pooled thicker than they should.

The cold pressed against her spine like a hand.

Then came the voice. Not in her ears.

Inside her.

“You opened the door, and I walked through.”

She gasped, hand flying to her chest. The moonstone pendant Dorian had given her burned against her skin, searing like it had been set aflame. Her breath stuttered, fingers clawing at the cord as if cutting it free might stop what was coming.

“Autumn?” Dorian’s voice snapped through the haze. “What’s wrong?”

She turned to him, half a step, no more, and her knees buckled.

Her vision blurred. Her hands spasmed. Then her body went utterly, unnaturally still.

Dorian stepped forward instinctively.

And then she smiled. But it wasn’t her smile.

It was tight. Cold. Detached. A mask.

“Hollis,” Dorian breathed, every muscle locking into place. “You son of a?—”

Autumn—no, Hollis —tilted her head, studying him like a specimen behind glass.

“You call me a ghost,” he said through her lips, voice layered with hers, mournful and sharp. “But I was alive when they buried me.”

Dorian’s eyes narrowed, stepping sideways, circling. “You tricked her.”

“She left the door cracked,” Hollis whispered. “And I was already inside.”

The room pulsed with cold. The mirror across the room splintered, a crack running from top to bottom. The candles flared blue, then sputtered back to life, unsteady.

Autumn’s body moved with eerie calm, her hands flexing at her sides like she didn’t quite know how to use them.

“You were supposed to be free,” Dorian said, voice low, controlled. “She gave you peace.”

“ She gave me a grave, ” Hollis hissed. “You think love is enough to undo betrayal? Do you know what it is to be silenced by the man who swore he’d protect you?”

Autumn twitched. Her fingers jerked upward to her throat.

“I was his, ” Hollis went on. “And he promised me forever. Just like you promised her.”

Dorian’s jaw clenched. “I’m not him.”

“You’re close enough.”

A gust of wind slammed against the windows. The floorboards beneath them creaked like something ancient had stirred beneath the inn.

“She’s not yours,” Dorian growled.

“She is ours ,” Hollis corrected. “She carries grief like I did. She speaks to the dead like I did. She loves like I did—quietly. Fearfully. And now?” Hollis’s smile widened. “She breaks like I did.”

Autumn’s body convulsed suddenly, knees hitting the floor. Her hands clawed at her sides, her face contorted in pain.

“Dorian!” her voice— her voice—ripped through the air, just once.

He dropped beside her instantly, hands on her shoulders.

“Autumn, I’ve got you. Come back.”

“She’s too far,” Hollis taunted, now quieter, from somewhere beneath her voice. “She gave me space, and I filled it. She wanted to understand.”

Dorian pressed his forehead to hers, gritting his teeth.

“You’re not him. And she’s not yours.”

Her hands trembled, fingertips digging into his arms. Her eyes flickered—dark, then green, then dark again.

“Let. Me. Go. ” she rasped.

Hollis didn’t answer.

But the shadows did.

They surged behind her, swallowing the far wall, climbing up the sides of the hearth like smoke made sentient. The sigils on the floor—dimmed after the ritual—flared again, repulsed by the intrusion.

“I won’t be forgotten,” the voice snarled. “I won’t be buried again. ”

Autumn cried out, her body arching.

Dorian wrapped his arms around her, anchoring her against his chest. “Then be remembered. But not like this.”

The moonstone pendant glowed.

And suddenly Autumn was back.

Gasping. Sobbing.

“He’s still inside,” she whispered, clutching the pendant. “Watching. Waiting.”

Dorian cupped her face, eyes burning. “We’ll get him out. We’re not done.”

She nodded, broken and breathless, and fell into him.

And the shadows watched from the corners.

Waiting.