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Stepping closer, the Entity brought Evangeline’s face inches from mine. “The heir will take the chair. The heir will accept the threads. The heir will become the anchor.”

“Not yet.” Holding my ground, I kept my voice steady. “First, you’re going to show me exactly what I’m agreeing to. I want to see the original contract. I want to see how Evangeline bound herself. I want to see every clause, every witness, every piece of evidence you’ve used to claim ownership over the people in this building.”

Smiling with Evangeline’s mouth, the Entity responded. “The heir wants proof. The heir wants terms. The heir wants control.”

“The heir wants to know what she’s walking into.”

“Very well.”

Shifting like curtains, the membrane walls pulled back, and suddenly the chamber was larger, much larger, revealing rows of filing cabinets, shelves lined with leather-bound ledgers, and a massive iron frame suspended from the ceiling by chains.

Shaped like a bed or an altar or something in between, the frame held black thread hanging from its corners, swaying gently despite the lack of wind. The surface was stained with old blood, and I could see words carved into the iron: names, dates, promises, all written in a language I didn’t recognize but somehow understood.

Around the edges of the chamber, I saw them now: the Freaks who’d been hunting us through the galleries. Standing in a silent row, the Grinners had painted smiles cracked and peeling, their needle teeth glinting in the pink light. Near one wall, the Seamstress crouched, her silver mannequin clutched to her chest, black thread spilling from her fingers. Motionless beside a filing cabinet, the Bellboy’s brass bell embedded in his throat reflected the light. Along the ceiling, the Crawling Ushers moved, their jointed limbs clicking softly as they repositioned themselves. Near the iron frame, the Marionette Couple swayed on their cords, their beautiful, synchronized movements occasionally diverging as if testing their restraints.

They weren’t just manifestations. They were witnesses. Trapped souls the Entity had converted into functions.

“The original contract,” the Entity said. “Written into iron. Witnessed by the first audience. Sealed with Evangeline’s blood and the blood of every heir who followed.”

Moving to my side, Malachi kept his voice low. “Don’t touch it. The moment you make contact, the Entity will try to bind you.”

“I’m not planning to touch it.” Turning back to the Entity, I kept my voice steady. “You said the contract requires a living anchor from Evangeline’s bloodline. But Evangeline didn’t have children. She didn’t have siblings. So how did the bloodline continue?”

Widening, the Entity’s smile revealed more. “Evangeline had a sister. Younger. Unmarried. Desperate to escape their father’s house. Evangeline promised her freedom in exchange for one night of witnessed cruelty. The sister agreed. The audience watched. And when the sister tried to leave, Evangeline reminded her that the contract required her bloodline to remain available for future anchors.”

“You’re saying Evangeline trapped her own sister.”

“I’m saying Evangeline understood that power requires sacrifice. And the sister’s bloodline produced you.”

Something cold settled in my chest. “Who was the sister?”

“Her name was Isabella Vale. She married a man named Wynn. She had two daughters. One of them had two daughters. And those daughters are standing in this chamber right now.”

Meeting mine, Dahlia’s eyes revealed the truth.

We weren’t just descendants of Evangeline’s bloodline. We were descendants of the woman Evangeline had betrayed to create the House in the first place.

“So this whole time,” I said slowly, “the Entity has been hunting Isabella’s bloodline. Not because we’re powerful. But because we’re owed.”

“The contract requires balance. Isabella gave her body to the first audience. Her descendants are required to give theirs to every audience that follows.”

“That’s not balance. That’s slavery.”

“That’s the contract.”

“Then I’m rewriting it.”

Unchanged, the Entity’s expression remained fixed, but the membrane walls began to pulse faster, and the suspended bodies started to convulse.

“The heir cannot rewrite the contract. The terms were established by Evangeline Vale and witnessed by⁠—”

“By an audience that’s been dead for a century,” I interrupted. “By guests who signed under coercion. By Freaks who were turned into functions against their will. Your entire foundation is built on forced consent and manipulated bargains. So here’s my counteroffer: I’ll become your anchor. I’ll carry your contract. But I’m doing it as a gift, not a debt. And gifts can’t be collected.”

The Entity went still.

For a long moment, the only sounds were Dahlia’s ragged breathing and fluid dripping from the membrane walls.

Then the Entity spoke, and its voice was different: layered again, but not with authority. With hunger.