I open my eyes and find myself lying on a hard, freezing marble floor. Alone.
I spring to my feet. "Romina!? Fiore!?" I shout, loud. No answer.
The cold bites at me, sharp, and that sense of detachment from before hasn't fully gone. I look around: I've never been here, but I immediately realize the interior doesn't belong to the Real World. The furniture is darkened with mold, the walls stained, the wallpaper peeling. Long, blackened cobwebs hang from the ceiling.
This is the House behind the Veil, the one inhabited by spirits. And they don't care about interior design or cleanliness.
Arms crossed against the chill, I edge forward, cautious, toward a grimy window. The street below is visible, but distant, and a strange aura crackles between the building and the outside world. Even if I leaped from it, I wouldn't get out. The only way is the door.
It opens onto a spectral corridor. I swallow hard. Really cozy. If anything—or anyone—lunges out now, I'm going to shit in my pants.
A faint, foul breeze drifts through, guiding me like a truffle dog to its source. I reach a wooden staircase riddled with moth holes. I huff, covering my nose: the stench of rot rises powerfully.
Summoning every shred of courage, even as my legs shake violently, I step slowly down the creaking stairs. Being alone makes everything more intense; each footstep seems to amplify the sounds of the house.
At the bottom, I spot a vast hall sunk in darkness. I try again: "Romina..? Fiore..?" My voice comes out thin, almost a whisper.
Come on, Milo. You've got this, mate. Turn on the phone flashlight. Maybe they're in trouble and counting on you.
I switch it on. The beam cuts through the dark, the suspended dust sparkling like tiny glitter in the air. I move slowly, listening to every creak of the floor, every hidden rustle. My breath shortens, but I try to keep it steady, ready to react to any sound or movement.
Suddenly, CLANG!! A metallic crash makes me leap. I whirl toward the sound and spot a bluish figure of a little girl darting away, a fallen metal candelabrum clattering to the floor.
Ooh no no no no no no mother of heaven's, not the children ghosts, please, I can't… H E L P !!!
Heart racing, I swing the flashlight wildly in every direction. Then I press myself against a wall, trying not to get surprised from behind, breathing hard, almost hyperventilating.
"W-wait… don't play tricks! I-I won't hurt you… I just… just want to talk," I stammer, my voice pitched too high.
A crystal-clear giggle echoes in the room. I shiver. Then she appears: the ethereal outline of the ghost girl, trembling, emerging from the shadows.
"H-hey… uh, hi, little one. D-do you… Do you know where my friends are?" I ask, still pressed against the wall.
The ghost girl inches closer, silent.
A sudden icy gust brushes my neck. A hollow, whispering female voice snakes into my ear: "She won't answer you." I freeze. "She can't…"
Horror strikes me as I notice her lips are stitched shut.
I feel like my knees might give out, but the little ghost smiles, pleased to be noticed. Her tiny hand stretches toward mine.
Breath, Milo. She won't harm you. She's dead. And you need information on that hell of a Book. You need to find the others, too.
Trembling, I take her hand. Strangely, despite being translucent, it feels like a normal little girl's hand. Only… It's like gripping a cube of ice.
Praying my fingers don't freeze, I follow her to a new room full of mirrors. Faint sunlight filters through a barred window, barely touching the dusty floor.
And there they are: Fiore and Romina, crouched low, eyes shut, hands clamped over their ears, shielding themselves from some unbearable sound.
"Fiore!! Romina!!" I sprint toward them. They open their eyes and see me, but the pained expressions don't shift.
"What's happening to them!?" I ask, panicked, though I know the girl can't answer me.
"They can't withstand the frequency of our voices," replies the same woman's voice from before, muffled, coming from the doorway I entered through.
Then she appears: tall, flickering, her outline pale blue, holding an unlit candle.
"The sound of your voices?" I repeat, scanning the room. "I don't hear anything."
She glides forward, each step noiseless on the dark wooden floor. "You can tune into our frequency. Those without the gift only hear unbearable screeching."
I glance back at Fiore and Romina: I have to get them out. Watching them suffer like this it's unbearable.
"Why are you here?" the woman asks.
"Pietro D'Abano sent us. We came to ask if you know where the Heptameron is," I answer, trying to keep my voice steady.
"Unfortunately… we don't know exactly where it lies."
Damn it. Another dead end?
"You're… an intriguing one," she murmurs, eyes glowing as they drift to the mirror behind her — an oxidized surface in a gilded frame.
My reflection stares back, but not from this room: it's that strange place of my dreams again, bright, filled with white soft curtains and crystal water rippling under my feet. For a heartbeat, I forget where I am. The mirror feels like it knows more than I do. What is this, exactly? Some kind of subconscious trap?
"Among the spirits," the ghostly woman continues, "there may be one who knows where the Heptameron rests."
"Really?" I jump on it. "Who should I ask?"
"Someone younger."
"Younger?"
"More… recent."
Oh. She means someone who's died more recently.
"The Book vanished in the early 1930s," the lady finishes softly. "You should seek someone from that time."
"T–thank you," I stammer, my teeth chattering. Is it just me, or did the temperature drop again?
"It's best you leave now. Otherwise, the other tenants of this House won't let you go."
I suddenly notice the walls around us are moving—swelling, as if they're breathing. They're breathing?!
Catching my alarmed look, the lady points toward a narrow staircase.
"Go. At the end of the stairs, you'll find a door that will take you back outside."
I give her a nod of thanks, then hoist Romina and Fiore up. We clumsily make our way down the narrow, worn steps until we burst out in front of a door. I throw it open, and the July heat hits us like a giant hairdryer in the face.
I collapse heavily onto the pavement, breath ragged, legs weak. Romina falls beside me, panting, while Fiore stands a moment before dropping down, winded as if he'd run twenty miles.
"My god, what a nightmare!" Romina exclaims, her voice still trembling. "Those sounds… I couldn't have lasted another second. Thank you, Milo, for getting us out. But… how did you endure that infernal noise?"
I can't answer her. I feel utterly drained, my body still trembling; my skin is cold even under the sun, as if the chill from the House followed me outside.
Fiore stares at me, his brow furrowed. His voice betrays a hint of annoyance that wasn't there before: "Yeah… tell us what's going on, will you? And that weird reflection in the mirror, while you're at it."
I look at him. Something fierce shines in his eyes: suspicion. He doesn't say it, but it's there. He thinks I'm hiding something. The tension between us grows again, invisible and sharp.
I clear my throat, but my mouth is dry.
Romina gets up. "Wait, I'll grab some water. Stay here." She gives us an uncertain look before dashing off under the porticoes in search of a café.
"So?" Fiore asks, sharp and bitter, standing up. "Care to explain?"
"It's just a dream I had. Nothing more," I say, drained, trying to get up myself. My legs are still jelly.
"Nothing more, like the messages to your 'friend,' huh?" he spits angrily.
"It's just a dream," I repeat, though with less conviction than I'd like. "I don't know why it ended up there. I understand it as little as you do."
I try to move away, but he steps in front of me.
"Why didn't you tell me?"
I take a step back. His pink-tinged eyes burn. And for a moment, he scares me. "I don't understand why you're getting so worked up, Fiore. A dream is just a dream."
"No, it could be important! Why are you hiding things from me? What else aren't you telling me?" he steps closer, threateningly.
"I-I'm not hiding anything," I stammer, but I know the best defense is offense, so I strike back provocatively: "If anyone's hiding something, it's you. Like, why are you so mad at the Council? Whose dusty room was that? What's your relationship with my grandparents?"
I point a finger at his chest and keep going relentlessly.
"Where did you go last night, and why did you get so angry like that? Isn't it you who's full of secrets you don't want others to find out, projecting them onto me?" I finish, scornful.
Fiore brushes my hand aside with a sharp motion. Before I can react, he grabs me by the collar of my t-shirt. The force of the tug nearly throws me off balance.
"W-what are you…?!" I stammer, my voice dying in my throat at the sight of his face: teeth bared, nostrils flared, eyes both wounded and fierce.
He pants like an animal ready to strike. My heart pounds in my ears.
His grip is firm and relentless. I can't react like I usually would; suddenly, I feel small, fragile, overwhelmed.
Then, the quick sound of footsteps. A figure suddenly appears: a tanned boy, sun-kissed long hair, arms flung wide between us.
Fiore lets go of my collar instantly, his face still tense but surprised. I stagger backward and lean against a column of the portico, gasping, my head light, my heart hammering in my throat.
"Hey! What the hell are you two doing?" Enrico's firm voice cuts through the air.