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“Because Stanley has his own ghosts here he’s chasing,” I mutter, catching both their eyes. “Sorry.”

“This is an argument that we shouldn’t be having. We’re moving in; we came to tell you, end of story. I’m going to bed. I’m tired.”

“I’m going to get something to eat,” Kyrin says, his eyes flicking from Seraphine on the surveillance to Lucien. “You can either get on board or continue to attempt to wreck everything. You don’t win in the end.”

Lucien growls something that sounds like an expletive, but neither Kyrin nor I stop to give him any more energy.

Kyrin halts at the top of the basement stairs and gives me a worried look. “Do you think this is it?”

“I don’t know.”

“Do you think he can be trusted with her?”

“I also don’t know that, but I think we’re too far gone to worry about it.”

He nods. “I agree. Good night, Elias.”

“Night.”

I rush up the stairs, heading toward the east wing, where I’ll reside a few rooms from Seraphine’s, and nearly run into Stanley as he exits.

“Oh, Master Elias, I didn’t know you’d be turning in so early. I would’ve turned the bed down.”

“Don’t worry about it, Stan.” He huffs a sigh at how I shortened his name. He always does.

It’s our thing.

Stanley walks toward the stairs, and I’m stepping into the room when I hear his steps stall. “You know she’s been exploring the fourth floor at night, right?”

That’s news to me. What scared woman goes exploring in a creepy house under the cover of darkness?

“No. I didn’t.”

“Master Lucien said she’s drawn to Lenore’s room.”

My heart sinks into my stomach. “Fuck.”

“It has already begun, Master Elias. Let us hope we don’t lose another to this house’s hunger before it’s all over.”

I don’t find a reply before the old man turns the corner and disappears down the stairs.

“Let’s hope we don’t,” I murmur, glaring at the estate’s weathered walls and wondering if it’s listening as I shut my door.

A scream rouses me; sweat slicks my forehead, and I wipe it away as I try to ground myself.

It’s the fucking dreams. It has to be.

They were always worse here, insistent even.

My feet touch the cool floor as I try to regain a foothold in the living world and escape the darkness of the otherworld, when another scream rends the air.

I realize it’s coming from outside my bedroom.

My balcony door is open, and the sound of the ocean beating against the cliffs outside is in direct, calming contrast with the agony-laced cries still stifled and insistent.

I shuck off the covers completely and move toward the intermittent wails.

My heart is fluttering wildly, reminding me of how it felt to grow up in this place.