Cassian steps in first. I follow, close enough to see the tension in his shoulders but far enough back that if something jumps out like a haunted house scare, I’ll have room to react.
The hallway opens into a wide living room, cluttered with old family photos. It’s a small place, but it could be cozy, if it weren’t for the silence.
Crooked picture frames catch my eye. Smiling faces stare back at me, like they belong to a different universe. They’re just so bright and happy. Some of the photos were clearly taken here, in this very house, but looking at them feels like slipping into a warped dream. The walls are the same, but the feeling they carry now… it’s not.
They seem… daunting.
A picture in the middle draws me in. It shows Cassian as a kid. Wide-eyed. Serious. Holding a plastic sword like he already knew he’d grow up to carry the real thing one day. Next to it is a girl, a bit taller than him, flashing a bright smile. A few frames over, she appears again, older this time. It doesn’t take long to realize it’s her.
Cassian’s sister.
Sabine, right?
Shit.
Every step Cassian takes seems heavier, like the memories are dragging on his legs. He looks around like he doesn’t even recognize the place. Like it’s some twisted version of what he remembers.
“Cassian,” I say quietly. “Maybe your mother’s not here?”
He doesn’t turn around.
“She’s here,” he says. “I know it.”
Right.
Well.
I know that the wraith is here. So there’s that.
A creak sounds above us.
“Upstairs,” he says.
He heads for the staircase, and I follow. My whole body tightens, nerves on edge like they’re trying to warn me before I see it. Another creak follows, louder this time.
Cassian hits the stairs hard, taking them two at a time. I’m right behind him, gripping the railing. We’re halfway up when I feel it.
The temperature drops again.
I gather what little strength I have. I’m not at full power anymore, not even close, but if it comes down to a fight, I’ll deal with it. That’s the job.
Kill the wraith. Save Cassian’s mother.
That’s why I’m here.
We reach the top. The hallway is narrow and dim, with three doors along the right side. The walls are plain, painted a washed-out cream, and the carpet is worn thin in the middle. A few scenery pictures hang unevenly, some tilted like no one’s touched them in years. The air smells faintly of dust and something old.
Cassian doesn’t stop. He heads straight for the last door, the one that’s half-open.
He throws it wide.
“Ma!”
I follow him in, ready for a fight. Ready for anything.
But to my surprise, there is nothing deadly waiting in the room.
She’s there.
