Tara didn't move.
The shadow by the wall remained still, its silhouette barely distinguishable from the rest of the room's gloom. Yet it felt louder than anything. Like a scream painted black. Its fingers, long and narrow, almost brushed the floorboards. She didn't blink. She didn't dare.
"You're almost ready," the voice had whispered.
"Ready for what?"
The shadow tilted its head.
Then it faded.
Not walked away, not turned. Just... unwound like smoke in reverse.
The silence returned. The lightbulb above flickered once and then came back to life. Her lamp glowed warm again, as if none of it had ever happened.
But Tara knew.
She reached for her crutches, more out of habit than need. Her legs tingled — that dangerous itch of muscle memory trying to return.
-----
Down the hall, Mina hadn't slept at all.
She sat in bed with her back against the headboard, a small knife hidden beneath her pillow. It had been in one of the kitchen drawers — dusty and nearly dull, but a knife nonetheless. She didn't trust anyone in the house. Not the staff. Not the walls. Not the rules that never seemed to be spoken, only understood.
Her eyes drifted to the doorway every few seconds.
Grinbridge House didn't make noise like other houses. No creaks. No pipes rattling. No distant murmurs. The silence here was constructed. Sculpted. She felt it pressing in around her like invisible hands.
She reached for her notebook and began to write — not thoughts, but facts.
1. The statue bled black ink.
2. The garden sealed us in.
3. The paintings moved.
4. The maps redrew themselves.
5. Tara heard a voice. Twice.
She hesitated.
6. Tara might be hiding something.
She scribbled it, then immediately scratched it out.
-----
Aria didn't return to her room that night. Instead, she stayed near the staircase, seated just out of sight of the second floor landing. She had a theory — about the timing of things. The house seemed to shift right after ten. Like it breathed in all day and exhaled darkness at night.
At 10:14 PM, a hallway light flickered off. The one above Tara's room.
At 10:17, a soft whisper echoed down the west wing corridor.
At 10:23, something in the portrait gallery laughed. Just once.
Aria didn't sleep. She memorized every sound.
And when morning came — if you could call that strange bluish haze 'morning' — she stood, stretched, and headed straight for Tara's door.
-----
Tara opened it before she knocked.
"You were awake all night too," Aria said.
Tara nodded. "You heard something, didn't you?"
"I heard a lot of things. But none as real as what I think you saw."
Tara didn't speak.
"Do you want to talk about it?" Aria asked.
"No."
Aria paused, then said, "Okay. But I want you to know I'm not scared of you."
That broke Tara's silence. "Why would you be scared of me?"
"Because something in this house wants you. And usually, when something wants someone, it's because they're useful. Or dangerous."
Tara's throat tightened. "I didn't ask for this."
"I know."
Then Aria turned and walked away.
-----
Later that day, Reya suggested they explore the attic.
"No one's been up there," she said, "and it's the only place not mentioned on any of the maps. Not even the ones that draw themselves."
"Maybe for a reason," Sofi murmured.
But they went anyway.
A narrow staircase near the linen closets led upward, past a wooden trapdoor and into darkness. It smelled like dust and memories. The stairs creaked under their feet — the first real creaks any of them had heard since arriving.
"That's new," Lina said. "Sound."
They reached the top and pulled open the trapdoor. It opened too easily.
Inside was not a cramped, storage-filled attic.
It was a room.
A perfect square.
The walls were a pale gray, and the air was neither cold nor warm. No cobwebs, no crates. Just a single, small wooden table in the center and six chairs around it. One for each of them.
No dust. No dirt. Not even a scratch on the wood.
And worst of all — no corners.
"I hate this," Aria said immediately.
She was right. Though the walls met, they didn't create real corners. The edges curved, so slightly it was almost imperceptible. As if the room had been sculpted from a single, massive piece of soft clay.
"It feels like we're in a mouth," Sofi whispered.
Reya walked to the table.
There was a folded piece of paper in the center. She picked it up slowly.
Unfolded it.
Read it aloud.
"One of you is not what she pretends to be.
One of you is already home.
If you leave without her, none of you will survive.
You have three nights left."
Everyone stood in silence.
Tara's fingers gripped her crutches tighter.
-----
Back in their rooms, the tension spread like smoke.
No one said it aloud, but everyone thought it: the message was about Tara.
She could feel it in their glances. Their careful tone changes. How they no longer walked ahead or behind her, but always beside her. Not protective. Not curious. Just... cautious.
She understood.
She would've felt the same if the roles were reversed.
But still, it burned.
In the quiet of her room, Tara finally stood. Slowly. On her own.
No crutches. No wall for support.
She just stood.
Not out of bravery — but out of necessity. She couldn't stay hidden forever. If the house was going to reveal her, it wouldn't be on its terms. It would be on hers.
"If you leave without her, none of you will survive."
She didn't know what that meant. But she had a feeling the house wouldn't let her be the last to find out.
-----
That night, the group gathered again. Not in anyone's room, but the attic room.
They sat in the same six chairs, around the same table. No one spoke at first.
Then Mina said, "Let's just say it. The message was about Tara."
No one argued.
Tara didn't deny it.
"Do you think I want this?" she asked. "That I chose to be the one it whispers to?"
"I don't think you chose anything," Aria said. "But I think the house did."
"It watches her," Reya said quietly. "She doesn't always see it. But we do. It lingers near her room. Sometimes I hear breathing in the walls when I walk past."
"You said something changed in the garden," Mina added. "You moved differently. I didn't say anything then, but I saw it. Your crutch slipped, and you didn't fall."
Tara looked down. "You're right. I didn't."
"Then tell us the truth," Aria said. "Can you walk?"
Tara closed her eyes.
"Yes."
It was just a word.
But it dropped into the room like a hammer.
Sofi didn't gasp. Didn't move.
She just looked at her.
"I trusted you," she said softly. "I held you."
Tara nodded. "I didn't lie to hurt you. I lied to survive."
"Survive what?" Lina asked.
Tara looked toward the curved corners of the room.
"The thing that's coming."