Jason's words stayed in the room long after he left the window.
Someone will bleed.
Loraine didn't sleep.
The house listened.
She lay still, counting the seconds between her breaths, afraid even the sound of her heartbeat might betray her thoughts. Every creak of the walls felt deliberate, as if the house itself was reporting her fear back to him.
When Jason returned to bed hours later, she didn't move.
He watched her for a long time.
She knew because the air changed—thickened—like it always did when his attention settled on her.
"You're awake," he said quietly.
She didn't answer.
His fingers brushed her arm. She flinched before she could stop herself.
He withdrew instantly.
That silence was worse than anger.
A Body That Betrays Her
The next morning, she couldn't eat.
The smell of food turned her stomach violently. She barely made it to the bathroom before retching, hands shaking as she gripped the sink.
Her reflection looked wrong—paler, hollowed, eyes too large for her face.
This had been happening for days.
She'd tried to tell herself it was stress. Fear. Sleepless nights.
But deep down, something cold had already begun to form.
Jason appeared in the doorway.
"You're sick," he said.
"I'm fine," she whispered.
He crossed the room in two steps and placed a hand on her forehead. His touch lingered too long, as if he were listening to something beneath her skin.
"…Interesting," he murmured.
Her stomach dropped.
A Quiet Confirmation
Later—alone—she locked the bathroom door.
Her hands shook as she stared at the result.
It felt unreal.
Like her body had betrayed her while she wasn't looking.
She slid down against the door, pressing her hand over her mouth to keep from screaming.
A child.
Growing.
Inside her.
Her fear wasn't gentle. It was immediate and violent.
Images flooded her mind—red eyes, fangs, blood on marble floors, locked doors, whispered promises that sounded like threats.
What if it's like him?
What if it ties me here forever?
Her thoughts spiraled to a place she didn't want to be—but couldn't stop.
I can't do this.
I can't bring something into this house.
She cried silently, shoulders shaking, terrified not just of Jason—
—but of what was already becoming part of her.
The House Tightens
Jason noticed everything.
Her guarded movements.
The way she protected her body unconsciously.
The way fear sat deeper now—not just in her eyes, but in her posture.
"You're hiding something," he said that night.
She shook her head.
He smiled slowly.
"Don't lie to me."
She broke.
"I'm scared," she whispered. "That's all."
Jason studied her like a puzzle.
"Fear changes you," he said. "It makes you dangerous."
Outside the Walls
Beyond the gates, Ethan waited.
Bruised. Still hurting.
But closer than ever.
He'd learned the blind spots. The shifts in guard rotations. The quiet moments when the house grew too confident.
"She's still in there," he muttered. "I know it."
Inside, Jason paused mid-step.
His head tilted slightly.
That same smile touched his lips again.
The Ending That Isn't One
That night, Jason stood at the foot of the bed, watching Loraine sleep with one hand curled protectively over her stomach.
He didn't know yet.
But something inside him did.
He felt it.
And when he finally whispered—
"Mine…"
Loraine stirred in her sleep, tears slipping silently into the pillow.
Questions That Won't Let Go
How long can Loraine hide what her body is carrying?
Will the pregnancy become her final chain—or her reason to fight?
How close is Ethan really to crossing the line Jason dares him to cross?
And when the house listens…
who does it obey?