Chapter 5 The Unseen Truth

The night air waved heavily over the house's roof. A thin, crescent moon hung low in the sky, its pale light spilling through the high windows, painting the walls with faded silver. Shadows clung on like stains that refused to fade away, stretching into the corners as if they belonged to another world entirely.

I stood beside the glass, my fingers lightly touching the cold windowpane, staring out at the unending swaying of tall grasses above the fence. The wind moved it in slow waves, but tonight it didn't look peaceful. It looked restless. Almost nervous.

Something had shifted.

It wasn't just the wind. It wasn't just the silence. It was deeper - the air itself had weight, like it was pressing down on me, like it wanted to keep me still. My skin crawled, though I couldn't say why.

I turned away from the glass and crossed the room. My steps were slow, each one echoing faintly against the wooden floor. Then, it happened - the sound.

It came from somewhere out in the hall. Soft. Barely there. A slow, drawn-out scrape, almost like fingertips dragging along the wall.

I froze.

My heart thudded once, hard, the sound rushing in my ears.

It could be nothing, I told myself. A loose shutter knocking. The house settling. Wood expanding in the cold. But the lie was too thin. My body already knew it wasn't the house.

I turned my head toward the door, my breath shallow. The sound came again, closer this time. Slow. Steady. Like whoever was making it wanted me to hear.

The lamp sat on the desk beside me, but I didn't dare reach for it. Light would mean they'd know exactly where I was. I gripped the edge of the desk instead, my knuckles pale.

The air shifted.

It was small - so small I might have missed it if my nerves weren't already burning. A faint current moved across my cheek, carrying with it a smell that didn't belong in this room. Musk. Damp earth. And under it, something metallic, faint but sharp enough to make my stomach tighten.

That's when I heard it - the whisper.

Not words. Just breath.

It came from the doorway.

My legs backed up on their own until they hit the bedframe. My eyes darted toward the corner of the room - and there it was.

A shape. Just a shade darker than the shadows around it.

It didn't move. It didn't breathe. It just... was.

I blinked, and it was gone.

The corner stood empty, but my heartbeat didn't slow. I stayed there, gripping the bedpost, waiting for the next sound. It didn't come.

Then, the silence changed.

It wasn't just quiet - it was the kind of silence that feels alive. The kind that listens back.

I knew if I didn't check, I'd spend the rest of the night imagining what could be there. So I edged toward the doorway, my bare feet soundless against the floor, my breath a careful thread.

The hall stretched long in both directions, pale moonlight spilling in from a single window at the far end. My breath fogged faintly in front of me. It was colder here, though no window was open.

I stepped into the hallway. The boards whispered under my weight.

Halfway toward the stairs, movement rippled at the far end.

I froze.

The shadows there bent, stretching unnaturally before peeling away from the wall - and that's when I saw him.

Dorian.

He stood in the moonlight, half in shadow, half lit. His face was unreadable, his expression flat, but his eyes... they caught the light like pieces of glass.

I didn't speak. Couldn't. My voice felt locked somewhere deep inside my chest.

He took a step forward, slow and steady, like there was no reason to rush.

I stepped back.

He stepped forward again.

The space between us narrowed, each of his movements unhurried, deliberate. The sound of my own heartbeat grew so loud I could hear nothing else.

When he stopped, he was close enough that I could see the faint scar along his jawline, cutting through the shadow of stubble.

"You shouldn't be here, Selene," he said.

His voice was low, rough, carrying something I couldn't read. Not anger. Not warning. Something heavier.

Before I could respond, the lights flickered - once, twice - then the hall fell into darkness so complete I couldn't see my own hands.

Somewhere in that black, I heard it - the scrape of a boot on wood. Then another step. Then nothing.

When the lights blinked back on, the hall was empty.

He was gone.

But the smell he brought with him still clung to the air.

I stood there for what felt like minutes, not moving, afraid that if I did, the silence would break again.

Finally, I forced myself toward the stairs. My hand slid along the banister, the wood cold under my palm. Every step downward felt longer than it should.

The living room was empty. The furniture sat untouched. The fire had burned low, just a few orange embers curling in the grate.

But I knew I wasn't alone.

Something in the room's stillness told me he was still here - somewhere just out of sight. Watching.

The air was heavier now, like the house itself was holding its breath.

I turned slowly, scanning each corner, each shadow, but nothing moved. My gaze landed on the door to the cellar. It was shut.

Had it been shut before?

I couldn't remember.

My feet moved toward it, though every part of me wanted to turn away. The metal handle was cold when I touched it. Too cold.

I pulled.

The door creaked open to a pitch-black stairwell. The smell that rose up from the dark was stronger now - earth, musk, and metal.

A sound drifted up from below. Soft.

Breathing.

I gripped the doorframe, my heart slamming hard enough to hurt. The breathing grew louder, more ragged. Then - it stopped.

The silence that followed was worse than the sound.

And that's when I heard Dorian's voice again, this time from the dark below.

"You came looking for me."