Kate hadn't slept. She couldn't.
All night, the same thought circled in her mind like a moth to a flame:
"The boy is no longer the boy."
She paced Ivy's room at sunrise, hoping her sister had come back from wherever Miles had taken her, but the bed was untouched.
She was still out there.
Possibly with him.
Downstairs, Mrs. Grose poured tea as if nothing was wrong. The kitchen smelled like cinnamon and toast. Birds chirped beyond the windows. It was all too calm.
"Where's Ivy?" Kate asked sharply.
Mrs. Grose barely flinched. "Out for a ride with Miles, I believe. She's taken to that horse like she was born for it."
Kate didn't answer.
She turned to Flora, who was buttering toast with too much excitement for someone awake this early.
"I was thinking," Flora said cheerfully, "we should play hide-and-seek in the gardens again! Or—oooh! Maybe the greenhouse. I saw someone moving in there last night!"
Kate blinked. "Someone?"
Flora giggled. "Maybe just the wind. Or maybe Miss Jessel!" she teased, as if it were a harmless game.
Kate forced a smile. "Sounds fun."
But her stomach sank.
Ivy returned midmorning, cheeks flushed, hair tousled. Kate cornered her in the hall.
"Ivy, we need to talk."
"Not now," Ivy muttered, brushing past her.
"Ivy."
"What?" Her voice was sharper than Kate had ever heard it. "Why do you care what I do or who I spend time with?"
Kate stared at her. "Because I'm your sister. And that boy—he's not what he seems."
"You don't know anything about him."
Kate hesitated, then said it: "I think he's being influenced. Possessed, even. By someone named Peter Quint."
Ivy froze.
But then... she laughed.
A short, strange laugh that didn't sound like her.
"Don't be ridiculous," she whispered, and left.
Later that afternoon, Flora insisted they play a game. To Kate's surprise, Ivy agreed.
Hide-and-seek.
Flora counted by the fountain while Ivy disappeared into the trees and Kate wandered through the garden, heart pounding, scanning every shadow.
The sun filtered through the twisted branches. Wind whispered through the hedges.
Kate followed a path to the old greenhouse.
Its glass panels were fogged, vines curling around its frame like fingers. The door creaked open with a groan.
Inside, the air was hot, humid... and wrong.
Everything was overgrown. Ivy wasn't there. But something else was.
A box. Wooden, dusty. Locked, but the lid had cracked slightly open.
Kate knelt. Inside were letters — handwritten, faded.
She pulled one out.
"I think he's watching me through Miles. I think he never really left this place."
The letters were from Miss Jessel.
Another sheet.
"Peter said the boy was just a shell. That he could live again... in him."
Kate stood up too fast and hit a low-hanging branch. Her ears rang.
When she turned—Flora was standing in the doorway.
"Oh," she said sweetly, "you weren't supposed to find that."
Kate froze.
Flora giggled. "Don't worry. It's just an old story. Just ghosts, Miss Kate."
But her smile didn't reach her eyes.
That night, Ivy sat in Miles's room — Quint's room — tracing the grooves on the windowsill. A book lay open on the bed beside her.
"Do you feel it?" Miles asked from the doorway.
She looked up.
"Feel what?"
He stepped in, closing the door behind him.
"The truth," he said softly. "This place... you. Me. It's all connected."
He reached out, brushing a loose strand of hair from her face.
Her skin tingled.
"Don't let her pull you away," he whispered. "You're mine. You've always been mine."
And somehow... Ivy didn't want to run.