Page 43

But knowing that his brother is somewhere in the house, knowing that might’ve been him who approached me earlier, gave me pause.

It felt disrespectful, even though I’m in my private space.

Something about this fucking estate weighs on me, like a riddle I can’t work out.

The longer I’m here, the more my skin itches, like the estate is making me sick.

Like the very energy here is full of poison.

I slip into a robe and tighten it around myself when a knock sounds at my door, making me gasp.

A shadow at the base of the door moves back and forth, waiting.

A ghost wouldn’t leave a shadow, right?

Even while I’m sure Kyrin’s brother is alive, I’m highly certain other things are lurking here that aren’t, and those things are what I hope my door will keep out, even if it’s illogical.

Slowly, I open the door.

Sophie is on the other side, a candle in her hand as if we don’t have the electricity back on again. “I was just coming to check on you. I thought I heard you crying earlier.”

Crying?

I mean, I did make a few noises, but her room is on the first floor, mine is on the third; there’s no way she heard that…

“No. I’m fine. Are you alright?” I ask, noting how her hand shakes as the flame flickers on her candle.

“Yeah. Of course. This fucking house. Putain!” She spits out, her eyes narrowing down the hall as if to scold the estate for her sleeplessness.

It’s nearly midnight, so I’m sure whatever she heard must’ve woken her.

I was supposed to go to her room when I got back, but it was so late, and then with what happened…

“Why don’t you come in? I have some bourbon in my room.”

Her eyes flick back to me. She blows out her candle and nods, stepping past me when I open the door wide.

I check either direction down the hall before closing it.

“You drink a lot?” she asks, noting the two empty bottles of bourbon on the drink cart.

“Only at night. You?” I ask, the bottle’s head clinking against the lowball glass as I try to steady my hand to pour her three fingers.

“Only at night,” she echoes.

“I’ve been meaning to get you alone to talk to you about this place,” I tell her, turning to hand her the glass.

She downs it, immediately handing it back to me.

I fill it again, and this time she settles into the yellow wingback chair before the dying fire as I mirror her and down my first drink to fill my second.

“There’s not much I can tell you about this place,” she says.

Gripping my drink tight, I sit opposite her. “Oh? I thought you’d been here a long time. That was my mistake.”

“I have been.”

Now, I’m stunned and confused about what to say next.