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DORIAN

A utumn shook in his arms like a live wire, her body both here and not , like the spirit clinging to her was trying to pull her beneath the floorboards. Dorian held on tighter, heart pounding, arms anchoring her against his chest.

“Breathe, Autumn,” he whispered. “You’re still here. You’re still you. ”

But her breath came in gasps, eyes unfocused. Her hands clutched the moonstone at her throat like it could hold her soul inside her skin.

Behind them, the shadows pressed in from the corners of the parlor—slithering up walls, crawling toward the sigils that still pulsed faintly with dying protection. The house groaned. A mirror across the room shattered entirely, the sound sharp as bone snapping.

Dorian pulled her away just enough to cup her face.

“Look at me,” he said, voice deep, steady. “Autumn. Come back to me, darlin’.”

Her lips parted. A flicker of clarity passed through her eyes.

Then came him again.

The shift was so subtle it was horrifying. Her spine straightened too perfectly. Her hands dropped to her sides like puppet strings. Her gaze went cold. Vacant.

“Still you?” Dorian asked, though he already knew the answer.

She blinked once.

“No,” Hollis said through her voice, soft and final. “Not anymore.”

Something in Dorian snapped.

He shoved back the swell of fury. Let his bear rise only far enough to lend strength. His hands trembled with it, but he would not shift this time.

No.

This fight wasn’t about claws or teeth.

It was about the heart.

“You don’t get to use her like this,” he growled. “Not again.”

Hollis—inside her—tilted her head. “She welcomed me. She wanted to understand.”

“She offered you grace. And you’ve twisted it.”

“I was love once ,” Hollis hissed, stepping closer, shadows trailing behind her. “I bled for love. I died for it.”

“I know ,” Dorian said, his voice cracking. “And that should’ve been enough.”

He stepped into the circle again, ward lines flickering beneath his boots, threatening to break under his presence. But he didn’t care. If he had to burn for this, he would.

“You think you’re the only one who’s lost someone?” he whispered fiercely. “You think you’re the only one who’s scared of being forgotten?”

Her hands twitched. Her eyes flickered.

“You are forgotten,” he said, raw now. “Not because people stopped caring. But because you refused to let go. Because you turned your pain into something poisonous.”

The shadows reared behind her.

“Because you buried the love and kept the grief.”

A sob cracked through Autumn’s lips, but it wasn’t hers. Not fully.

Dorian reached forward, hands cupping her face again. “But love doesn’t rot, Hollis. You did. ”

A scream tore from her mouth, Hollis’s voice twisted and howling, and the circle ignited. Flame—not fire, but light—surged up from the sigils. The shadows shrieked. Windows burst outward in a spray of glass and wind.

Autumn dropped to her knees, arms wrapped around herself, teeth gritted in agony.

“ Get out of her! ” Dorian shouted, dropping to his knees beside her.

He gripped her hands. Tight. Anchored her with the weight of every moment they’d shared—every laugh, every touch, every whispered promise.

“You don’t belong in her, Hollis. She is not your vessel. She is not your ghost.”

He leaned forward, forehead pressed to hers. “I love you,” he whispered, voice breaking. “Autumn, I love you. You’re not alone. Not anymore.”

Crack.

Like lightning splitting through ice, a sound split the air.

The sigils flared. A scream rose from the walls—one voice, layered with centuries of sorrow—and was ripped away, pulled upward in a gust of wind that blew the doors open and slammed every window shut at once.

Autumn gasped, chest seizing, then collapsed into him, panting.

The moonstone at her neck glowed a soft, pulsing blue.

Still. And whole.

The shadows were gone.

Truly.

No lingering presence. No crawling cold.

Just the room, battered and quiet, and the scent of ash and old roses.

Autumn trembled in his arms, her voice barely audible.

“Is it… over?”

He nodded slowly, pressing a kiss to her hair.

“Yeah,” he whispered. “He’s gone.”

She looked up at him, eyes rimmed red but clear.

“I heard him,” she whispered. “Right before he left. He said… ‘thank you.’”

Dorian closed his eyes.

“I think he meant it.”

They stayed there, knelt in the ruins of the parlor, breath syncing, hands clasped.

Love had survived.

Grief had finally let go.

And Briar Hollow?

It was quiet for the first time in centuries.