The moment I stop fighting the veil, it doesn't just rise; it erupts, exploding outward in a shockwave of cold and light that slams into Dunhill and makes the entire house shake. The remaining glass in the windows shatters, spraying the floor with glittering shards. The crack beneath my feet splits wider with a sound like bone breaking. Outside, the fog screams against the broken frames as if the yard itself is trying to get inside, carrying the wet smell of earth, rain, and something old enough to rot.
Dunhill flies backward again, but not far this time—just far enough to hit the wall behind him with a sickening thud. Zeke catches me before my knees give out, holding me so tightly his fingers dig into my ribs, as if he's afraid I'll disappear if he loosens his grip.
I'm afraid too, but not of disappearing. I'm afraid of being lost to the veil and coming back as something no one recognizes. The thought claws up my throat until I can barely breathe. Around us, the others brace themselves against the blast, faces pale, eyes wide, bodies locked between terror and the instinct to protect me anyway.
"Holy frozen hell," Uncle Donovan screams.
It doesn't stop. The force tears through me again, brighter and colder, until the air snaps against my skin like live wire. My teeth chatter so hard my jaw aches, and every breath tastes sharp, metallic, and wrong.
Dunhill pushes himself off the wall slowly, blood dripping down his face, his breath rasping wetly through his teeth. His eyes burn with something beyond obsession. He limps forward, favoring one leg, but hunger sharpens every line of him. Inside me, the cold gathers into something focused. Not another blast. Something aware. It coils behind my eyes, a presence without a body, a voice without words, a command I don't understand. Everyone feels it ripple through the room; I see it in Julia's trembling mouth, Agent Garcia's tightening jaw, and the way Agent Williams's gun dips for half a second before he forces it steady again.
"Rocky, stay here with me," Zeke pleads, locking his arms tighter around me, trying to keep me grounded. His voice is rough with panic, and his heartbeat pounds against my back, too fast, too scared.
Andy steps closer, placing his hands on my shoulder. "We've got you, sweetheart. Don't let it take you. I just found you." His voice breaks on the last words, and the crack in it scares me more than Dunhill does.
"I swear," Uncle Donovan says, grabbing my other arm, "if you start glowing, I'm gonna need a minute to process that."
A sound rips through me, layered with voices that are not mine, scraping through my bones like nails across ice. Behind me, fog and light pull together into the outline of a figure, not solid, not human, rising like a second shadow with its own will.
Julia gasps, grabbing Agent Garcia's arm hard enough to wrinkle his sleeve, as Agent Williams steadies himself. Her eyes shine with tears she refuses to let fall.
"Rocky, what is that?" Zeke asks, worried.
Andy's voice shakes as he says, "The veil. It's the veil."
"OH, MY GOD! IT HAS A BODY!" Uncle Donovan screams. The shape flickers as it stretches and twists like it's trying to step fully into the room. The lights buzz overhead, and the smell of burning dust fills the air.
Dunhill smiles, cold and calculating, as if everything is unfolding exactly how he wants. The sight of it turns my fear into something hotter, something almost like rage. "I knew it," he says. "I knew you could do it."
It gains edges. Shoulders. A suggestion of hands. A guardian, a warning, and a weapon all wearing the same impossible shape.
Dunhill steps closer. "You cannot hide the truth from me," he says. "Not anymore."
Power snaps through the room. Dunhill staggers, one hand slamming against the wall to steady himself, leaving a smear of blood on the paint, but he doesn't break. He smiles through the blood, and the house seems to breathe with me—one cold inhale, one violent exhale. Dust rains from the ceiling and coats my tongue like ash.
Zeke leans close, his forehead almost touching the back of my head. "Rocky, don't let it take you."
"Please don't go full ghost nuke on me. I'm begging you," Uncle Donovan whispers.
He refuses to retreat. The figure at my back steps forward, and the room answers—air cracking, lights bursting, fog clawing through the broken windows. The curtains snap like flags in a storm, and loose glass skitters across the floor. Dunhill braces himself as the veil fully awakens—furious, visible, and terrifyingly aware.
"You think this scares me," Dunhill taunts. "You think your ancestors scare me. I'm not afraid because this power was meant to be wielded by me. You are my weapon, Roxanne."
The figure lunges. Cold hammers into Dunhill hard enough to bow the air around him. He skids back, boots scraping the floor with a shriek that sets my nerves on fire, teeth bared, blood streaking his face and arms. Still, he digs in. Still, he holds. The impossibility of it makes my stomach drop.
"Rocky, he's fighting it. He's actually fighting it," Zeke says, astonished by what he's seeing, his voice cracking.
Andy's jaw tightens. "He shouldn't be able to do that."
"Why is he still standing? That's illegal!" Uncle Donovan states loudly.
Another pull tears through me. The figure flickers, fighting to stay whole. My knees buckle. Pain flashes behind my eyes, sharp and white. Zeke catches my weight with a grunt, and Andy grabs my arm before I fold completely, his hand shaking against my sleeve.
Uncle Donovan grabs my other arm, whispering, "Nope, not today. You're staying upright, kid."
Debris whips through the room, slicing the air close enough for me to feel it pass my cheek. Julia ducks with a broken cry. Agent Garcia throws himself in front of her. Agent Williams fires a warning shot, the crack of the gun vanishing into the howl of the cold, but Dunhill barely blinks. The smell of gunpowder burns through the damp fog.
"You're opening the door," Dunhill says. "Let it open. Let it take you."
A storm opens in my chest. Fear should be louder, but something older buries it. The figure stretches higher, sharper, its edges snapping like torn fabric in a hurricane. I slip—not fading, not falling, but merging. It passes through Zeke without moving him, and for one horrible second his warmth vanishes from my back. Then it presses closer until its shape almost matches mine. Cold shoots down my spine. Light bursts behind my eyelids. The air vibrates like a struck bell, rattling my bones from the inside.
"Rocky," Zeke pleads again. "Stop. You're disappearing."
Andy grabs my shoulders, "Fight it!"
Uncle Donovan screams, "ROXANNE, DO NOT BECOME A GHOST. I CAN'T HANDLE THAT!"
It is past listening. The figure steps into me fully. My breath cuts off. My vision whites out. The room tilts, then stretches, then fractures at the edges. Panic punches through me, sudden and animal, because I can't feel where my body ends anymore. I don't know if I'm going to survive this. Through the blast, Dunhill takes one impossible step forward.
For one terrifying moment, I'm not just Roxanne. I'm every voice behind the veil—every ancestor, every warning, every sacrifice. The cold cinches around my ribs, throat, and spine. A thread of ice winds up the back of my skull, tugging me toward something vast and ancient. Dunhill sees it. His eyes widen with feverish awe.
"Yes!" he whispers. "Yes, this is what I've been waiting for."
The force turns inward. It drags me deeper, stretching the shape inside me until its edges sharpen. My vision splits in two: the room in front of me and something beyond it, older than the house, older than me. The other place smells like winter soil and extinguished candles, and it hums with voices waiting to be heard.
"Rocky, come back. Come back to me," Zeke pleads, his voice breaking. I try to stay grounded. I try so hard, but the veil is pulling harder. The sound of him saying my name hurts, because part of me already feels too far away to answer.
Andy moves to block Dunhill, shoving him back with the poker. "You're not touching her."
Dunhill barely reacts. He just keeps staring at me. "She's opening the door," he says excitedly. "You can't stop it. No one can."
Uncle Donovan steps in front of me, shaking but furious. "Back up! She is not open to anything. She is officially closed for ghostie business. Come back during regular business hours, asshole." The veil pulses again, a deep, resonant thrum that makes the air ripple.
"Rocky, stay here with me, baby," Zeke pleads frantically. But the veil is louder than his voice. It pulls harder again, and the room dims around the edges.
Andy's voice cuts through the haze. "Roxanne! Look at me. Please look at me. Dad's not going to let anything happen to you." I try to do what he asked, but the veil drags my gaze upward, toward the ceiling, toward the cold light gathering there.
Dunhill sees it all unfolding and smiles. "She's crossing soon," he says.
The thing inside me pushes forward, reaching for more than my power.
"Roxanne," Uncle Donovan yells. "If you go full ghost, I'm throwing you a family intervention." The cold turns unbearable. The light burns white. The voices rise until they swallow every other sound.
Dunhill closes the distance. "Good girl. Now finish it." The room bends around the edges. My body feels suddenly far away, like something I'm remembering instead of living inside. Everyone is focused on me, so no one sees Dunhill's expression sharpen. He watches the veil swallow me, watches the shape inside me grow taller, sharper, hungrier, and triumph ignites in his eyes. "She's crossing," he whispers. Then his voice cracks like a commandment. "Now!"
His men move instantly, spilling from the hallway shadows, the porch, and the broken windows. Fast. Brutal. Coordinated. Zeke barely turns before two men slam into him and rip him away from me. Andy swings the poker, but three men drive him to the floor. Uncle Donovan goes down hard, the broom handle spinning out of reach. Julia screams as Agent Garcia is tackled and his gun fires mid-struggle. Agent Williams is overwhelmed and pinned against the wall.
Zeke lunges for me. "Rocky!" he yells, but a fist catches him across the jaw, sending him to the floor. Andy fights like hell, but someone grabs his arm and twists until he cries out.
Uncle Donovan kicks wildly, yelling, "I did not consent to this!" before getting pinned under a man twice his size.
Hands clamp around my shoulders. Pain shoots down both arms as fingers dig into muscle and bone. I gasp as the veil flickers violently, the shape inside me jerking like it's being torn loose. Dunhill yanks me upright, his breath hot and sour against my ear.
"I win," he whispers triumphantly.
The sound tears out of the room itself, a thousand voices rising through the walls. Frost blooms across the floorboards.
Dunhill tightens his grip. "You're mine now. The book, the gift, the veil, all of it." For a moment, the room freezes. Then everything explodes.
"NO!" Zeke shouts, straining against the arms holding him. One man locks an arm around his throat while another pins his wrists. Zeke fights like a wild animal. "Rocky! Don't you give up! Don't let him take you. Fight!"
"Let her go!" Andy yells. He twists violently, elbowing one man in the ribs and kicking another in the knee. They slam him into a wall, forcing his arms behind his back. "ROXANNE, FIGHT HIM!" he roars.
"Absolutely not! She is not his anything!" Uncle Donovan is yelling. He thrashes under the two men, kicking, punching, head-butting, doing everything short of spontaneous combustion. One man clamps a hand over his mouth. Uncle Donovan bites him. "I will bite every single one of you!"
Agent Williams shouts, "Let her go!" He shoves off one of the men restraining him, nearly breaking free, before another slams him to the floor and pins his gun arm. Agent Williams still fights, teeth gritted. "Roxanne! Don't you listen to him! Don't let him take you!"
Dunhill laughs, not a chuckle but a full, delighted laugh that vibrates against my back. "You're all too loud," he says, mocking them. "So emotional. So predictable." He shifts his grip, sliding an arm around my waist, then lifts me off the ground. My feet kick uselessly at empty air. The veil screams, but my body is too weak, and the shape inside me is dragging me toward the other side while I hang helpless in my enemy's arms.
The veil hasn't abandoned me; it has split itself apart. It shields the others, keeps my heart beating, and drags me toward the other side all at once. It can't do all three. Not with Dunhill's hands on me. Not while it is tearing me open from the inside.
For a heartbeat, the world collapses inward. Cold locks around my ribs, spine, and skull. The veil isn't only protecting me anymore. It is trying to save me by changing me. The realization lands with a grief so heavy I almost stop fighting. The fog outside thins. The air goes still. Dunhill holds me like a trophy, his fingers digging into my skin as tears slide from my eyes. Then the veil stops pulling.
A cold wind tears through the house, ripping papers off tables, slamming cabinet doors open and closed, and driving everyone to silence. The shadows stretch toward me. The frost on the floor cracks in a perfect circle around his feet. Dunhill's grip loosens for the first time. From somewhere inside the veil, a woman's voice speaks my name—soft, familiar, and impossible. It wraps around the part of me that still remembers lullabies and warm hands brushing hair from my face. My heart stops. And then a figure steps through.