Page 9

AUTUMN

A fter Dorian had left her in the sunroom about the dream, she decided it was time to see if Evelyn was ready to talk.

As her mind wandered as to why the spirits were reaching out to him as well, the scent of honeysuckle had turned metallic.

Autumn paused in the hallway outside the east wing, her fingers gripping a small crystal charm in her pocket so tightly her knuckles ached. The floor beneath her boots felt colder than it had an hour ago. Still. Not just quiet, but wrong . Like something was holding its breath in the walls.

She knew that feeling.

Knew it too well.

The charm vibrated once. Faint, like a warning bell muffled in cotton.

Her breath caught in her throat. She’d been tracking fluctuations in energy all morning, her notes scribbled across half a dozen pages on the desk Dorian had built for her.

This wing—this room —had pulsed on and off like a faulty heartbeat. But now it screamed silence.

She stepped forward, slow, deliberate.

The door to the end bedroom stood ajar, and the air leaking through it was ice against her skin.

“Dorian?” she called gently, knowing he was likely still downstairs but needing to say something or anything —to keep the goosebumps from spreading.

No reply.

She exhaled, whispered the shielding spell under her breath, and pushed open the door.

The moment she crossed the threshold, everything shifted.

The air pressed in, dense and wet, like walking underwater. The candle in her hand flickered once—then snuffed out entirely. The sunlight outside the windows dimmed, as if the house had turned its back to the day. That’s when she saw him.

The Hollow Man.

He didn’t emerge. He coalesced —from the shadows in the corners, from the cracks in the walls, from the very grief woven into the floorboards.

He was tall, impossibly so, draped in shadows that moved like smoke.

His face was… incomplete. A hollow where a mouth should be.

Eyes like empty wells. Not glowing. Not burning.

Just gone .

Autumn froze, every instinct flaring to life.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” she said, voice low, steady.

He didn’t move. Didn’t breathe. Just watched .

“Evelyn,” she said carefully. “I know her name. I know there was pain. That something was taken from you.”

Still nothing.

Her fingers twitched. The charm in her pocket heated sharply, then cracked.

That was when she felt it.

The shift in energy. It was sharp, like a spear cutting through fog.

“No,” she breathed. “No, don’t?—”

The psychic force slammed into her like a freight train, invisible but suffocating.

Her vision blurred, knees buckling under the pressure.

Not physical, but deep, emotional, mental.

Memories not hers tried to shove into her consciousness.

Images of fire, of a circle of robed figures, of Dorian’s face twisting in anguish that wasn’t his.

He was downstairs and he was about to get hurt.

She had to protect him.

She bit her tongue hard enough to taste copper and grounded herself.

Her body screamed under the weight of the spirit’s fury, but she pushed back.

Pushed out . Her magic surged, flooding the room with warmth and memory.

Real ones. Her own. The scent of rosemary in her mother’s garden.

The scratch of old wool sweaters. The feel of Dorian’s hand over hers on a bench bathed in morning light.

The Hollow Man reeled just a step. But it was enough.

“Not him,” she gasped. “You don’t get to have him.”

The energy cracked like lightning. The room snapped back into place. The pressure eased.

And the Hollow Man was gone.

No warning. No parting threat. Just the echo of cold and grief in his wake.

Autumn collapsed to her knees, shaking.

Footsteps thundered down the hall, and then Dorian burst through the door, eyes wide, shirt clinging to his chest like he’d run straight through the rising summer heat.

“Autumn—”

“I’m okay,” she said, though her voice shook.

He dropped beside her, one hand bracing her shoulder, the other cradling her face like she might disappear if he blinked.

“What happened?”

“I saw him.” Her eyes filled with tears she wouldn’t let fall. “The true one haunting this place. The Hollow Man. All of him.”

His breath hitched.

“Did he hurt you?”

“Not like that.” She leaned into him, needing his steadiness. “He came after you . Through me.”

Dorian’s jaw tensed. “Why?”

“I don’t know.” She swallowed hard. “But he’s tied to this house in ways we haven’t seen yet. And I think… I think he sees you as a threat.”

“To what?”

She finally looked up at him, pupils wide with the last traces of fear.

“To whatever kept him here.”

Dorian exhaled through his nose, the sound low and steady. His arms wrapped around her without question, pulling her against him like it was the most natural thing in the world.

She didn’t resist. Autumn finally just let herself be held.