Page 1 of The House That Held Her

PROLOGUE

H e watched from the shadows, still and patient, blending seamlessly into the dark. He listened to the rhythm of the couple’s breath, slow and steady, feeling that same pull toward them as they slept in their bed.

They didn’t belong here.

The silence was almost suffocating, broken only by the woman’s soft sighs as sleep took over. He waited, unmoving, until the stillness felt absolute. Then, slowly, he moved forward like a speck of dust floating through the darkness, unheard and unseen.

He knelt beside the bed, his gaze flickering between the two figures. The room was shrouded in a dim glow, moonlight spilling weakly through the curtains while a quiet, persistent whistle of wind slipped through a crack in the window. He leaned closer, his breath ghosting the woman’s ear, whispering words too faint to hear, tears slipping down his face.

They were caught in a charged stillness: an unholy balance of innocence, oblivion, and malice. He pulled back, a fleeting smile curling his lips. She murmured something in her sleep—a tiny, incoherent sound—and he leaned his head in, listening.

The specter abruptly turned, staring into the darkness behind him. His ear tilted, listening intently, and then, as quietly as he had arrived, he faded back into the shadows as if being called back home.

The room returned to its stillness—the only trace of him a lingering chill already slipping into the sleeping woman’s dreams.