“I said it’s private.”
Without warning, he reached over and took the sketchbook from my hand. His fingers brushed mine as he took it, the fleeting contact sending a cold shiver down my spine. I almost spoke out at his presumptuous action, but again, something about him intrigued me enough to remain quiet.
I watched him flip through the pages with deliberate slowness, his eyes scanning each sketch with an intensity that made my stomach churn. My pulse thudded as he silently scanned certainimages, ones I’d drawn recently. Fascination flickered across his face. It wasn’t like him to show any interest in my art.
He glanced up from the sketchbook, his direct gaze disconcerting. His eyes focused on my hands, clutching the pencils like weapons as If he knew what I was planning to do with them.
“I’ve heard about your art. Cillian says you've great talent for a human.”
A warmth flickered in my chest at the mention of Cillian. Even here, he lingered in my thoughts.
A ballroom came to life in his hands, grand and opulent, filled with ghostly figures waltzing in perfect synchronicity. In the centre of it all was a lone dancer—me, caught mid-spin, my face frozen in an expression of something between joy and despair.
He stared at it longer than I expected, his head tilting slightly, as though he could almost hear the music spilling from the page. His brows furrowed, a shadow flickering across his features.
“You hear them?” he asked quietly.
His question threw me off guard. He looked at me as if measuring how much I would lie.
My breath hitched. Was he talking about the whispers in my head or maybe he was talking about the birds tweeting in the trees.
His gaze lifted, pinning me in place. “Just like me, you hear them, don’t you?”
It wasn’t the birds. It was the whispers. It was the first time he’d ever used the word ‘me’ in the same breath as ‘you.’
Was that him telling me we shared the same madness, or was Fionn trying to show a connection that wasn’t real just to kill me when I let my guard down?
I hesitated, unsure how much to admit. The truth felt like a weapon in his hands, something he could wield against me if he chose.
“I—”
But he had already turned the page.
“What…” His voice, usually so controlled, was barely a whisper.
“What is this?”
The chamber of bones, with the girl on her knees on the floor greeted him next — a stark, harrowing contrast to the ethereal beauty of the ballroom. Skulls stacked high against jagged walls, bodies strewn haphazardly across the floor like discarded puppets.
Fionn stiffened. For a moment, his breath slowed and for a second, my abductor looked like a man staring at his own grave.
I swallowed hard, my instinct screaming at me to lie. To dismiss it as imagination. But the look in his eyes stopped me cold.
“I—I don’t know,” I stammered. “It’s just something I… saw.”
“No,” he said sharply. “This isn’t imagination. This is a place in Elora. A place you shouldn’t know exists.”
“I told you, I don’t know…”
“Stop.” He cut me off, his tone cold and commanding. He held up the sketch again, his knuckles whitening. “You don’t just hear them, do you? You see them too.”
“I said it’s just a drawing.”
“Don’t insult me, Tilly. This isn’t imagination. You’ve seen this place.”
I wanted to deny it, take the book back and flee, but the weight of his gaze held me captive.
“Do you know what this place is?” he asked, stepping closer, lowering his voice.”
