Ivy waited until Miles was gone.
She stayed in the Red Garden long after he left, staring at the rusted box resting on her lap. The soil still clung to it, the lock biting into her palm like it didn't want to be opened. Her fingers trembled, heart pounding against her ribs as she slipped a hairpin from her pocket — one of Kate's, bent and almost useless.
But it worked.
With a soft click, the lock gave way.
Inside, wrapped in old silk that had turned gray with dust, were two things:
A photograph.
And a ring.
The photo was faded and cracked, but Ivy could still make out the woman in it — tall, elegant, beautiful. Miss Jessel. She looked calm, almost content, except for the hand resting on her shoulder.
A man stood beside her, shadowed, grinning in a way that didn't quite reach his eyes. His hand wrapped around her too tightly. There was no name written on the back. But Ivy didn't need one.
Peter Quint.
The ring was large and silver, with a red stone in the center. Ornate. Heavy. Like something from another century. Ivy held it in her fingers and felt a chill crawl down her spine — not from the cold.
From the pull.
It was like something wanted her to wear it. She nearly did... before shoving it all back inside and locking the box shut again.
She ran.
—
Mrs. Grose was in the kitchen preparing tea when Ivy burst in.
The old woman looked up in surprise. "My dear, what on earth—?"
"I need to talk to you," Ivy said, clutching the box. "About Miles."
The room went still.
Mrs. Grose wiped her hands on her apron, then gestured to the table. "Sit."
Ivy sat. Her hands shook as she placed the box on the table.
"I found this," she whispered. "In the Red Garden. Under the roses."
Mrs. Grose's face drained of color.
"Did you open it?"
Ivy nodded. "I saw Miss Jessel... and him. Peter Quint."
Mrs. Grose slowly sank into the chair across from her. Her hands folded, trembling.
"Miles acts strange," Ivy said, voice low. "Sometimes... it's like he's not even in control. Like someone else is in the room with him. Watching through his eyes."
She expected the housekeeper to deny it. To tell her she was imagining things. But Mrs. Grose simply looked tired. Old in a way Ivy hadn't noticed before.
"You're not wrong," she said softly. "He's... not always himself. Not since Peter."
Ivy felt her throat close. "What happened?"
Mrs. Grose sighed. "Peter Quint was the stablemaster. Charming, handsome, too clever for his own good. Miss Jessel was young, bright, and he wrapped her around his finger. But he was cruel. Possessive. The kind of man who wanted to own people... and punish them for loving him."
Ivy's heart twisted.
"They both died. Not long after each other. It was... unclear. Some say he fell. Others say something darker happened. But after that... Miles changed. He started saying things only Peter used to say. Acting like him. Looking at people with the same cold smile. Like Peter's spirit had... moved into him."
Ivy sat still. The air was thick with something heavy, like ash.
"So you think he's possessed?" she whispered.
Mrs. Grose looked at her sharply. "I think this house remembers. And sometimes... it doesn't let go."
A silence settled between them.
"What should I do?" Ivy asked, her voice breaking. "He's—he's getting closer. I don't know how to stop it."
Mrs. Grose reached across the table and squeezed her hand. "You can't stop it. Not alone. But don't let him pull you in."
Ivy nodded, even though deep down, she didn't know if she wanted to stay away.
Because no matter how dark it was...
Something inside her wanted to fall with him.