The bell rang at precisely seven o'clock.
It wasn't loud just a single, measured chime that vibrated faintly through the walls but it carried weight. Authority. Expectation. I had the unsettling sense that the house itself had announced dinner, not Elara.
I smoothed my dress and stepped into the hallway. The lights along the third floor flickered on one by one as I moved, as if guided by my footsteps. I didn't hurry. I had learned long ago that moving too quickly in unfamiliar spaces invited attention, and attention was rarely harmless.
The staircase felt steeper going down than it had earlier, the banister cold beneath my palm. Halfway down, I caught the faint scent of something metallic layered beneath the lavender old, hidden, persistent. My stomach tightened, but I forced myself to breathe normally.
The dining room glowed with warm light. A long table of dark wood stretched through the center, set immaculately for three. Candles burned steadily, their flames unnaturally still.
Elara sat at the head, already composed, her posture elegant and relaxed. Caleb stood by the window, staring out into the dark forest beyond the glass. He turned when he heard me enter.
"You found your way," he said.
"I did," I replied.
His mouth curved faintly, almost a smile. Almost.
"Sit, Justina," Elara said. "Please."
I took the chair to Caleb's right. When he sat beside me, I felt the warmth of him immediately, a quiet, grounding presence that both comforted and unsettled me. There was a careful distance between us, but the air felt charged, as though something unspoken hovered there.
Elara observed us over the rim of her wineglass.
"You'll notice," she began, "that Ravenwood operates on structure. Predictability. We find it helps maintain peace."
"I understand," I said again. It was becoming my favorite lie.
"You'll wake at six," she continued. "Breakfast at six-thirty. The west wing is off-limits at all times. Certain rooms will remain locked. You will clean what is assigned and ignore what is not."
"And at night?" I asked.
Elara's smile sharpened. "At night, you stay in your room."
Caleb shifted slightly beside me. I felt it not resistance, not disagreement, but something close to guilt.
"What about emergencies?" I asked quietly.
"There are no emergencies," Elara replied smoothly. "Only lapses in judgment."
The words settled heavily between us.
Dinner was served roasted vegetables, tender meat, bread still warm. I ate slowly, acutely aware of being watched. Elara barely touched her food, her attention fixed on my every movement. Caleb ate mechanically, his gaze dropping to his plate more often than not.
"How long have you lived here?" I asked him, breaking the silence.
Elara answered before he could. "All his life."
Caleb's jaw tightened.
"And you?" I asked her.
She laughed softly. "Long enough."
After dinner, Caleb rose to clear the plates. I stood instinctively to help, but Elara shook her head.
"Justina," she said gently, "observe first. Participation comes later."
Caleb's eyes met mine briefly an apology in their depths.
I watched him disappear into the kitchen, noting the way his shoulders slumped the moment he was out of Elara's sight.
"You're curious," Elara said.
"I think curiosity is human," I replied.
"So is disobedience," she said. "We discourage both."
She stood, smoothing her dress. "Tomorrow, you'll begin properly. Tonight, you should rest."
As she turned to leave, I noticed something odd.
She didn't walk me to the stairs.
The lights dimmed as I climbed back up alone. By the time I reached the third floor, my pulse had settled but not my thoughts. I locked the door behind me and leaned against it, listening.
Silence.
Then softly breathing.
I froze.
It wasn't mine.
The sound came from above, muffled but unmistakable. A slow inhale. A trembling exhale. Someone or something was there.
I forced myself to move, crossing the room to the window. The forest outside was alive with shadow, branches swaying like limbs. I pressed my forehead to the glass, grounding myself.
You're safe, I told myself. You've been in worse places.
But even as I thought it, I knew safety was an illusion Ravenwood didn't believe in.
Sleep came in fragments. Dreams bled into waking moments hallways that stretched endlessly, doors that whispered my name, hands brushing my hair in the dark. When I finally woke, my heart was racing.
The door was unlocked.
That shouldn't have been possible.
Morning passed in careful routine. I cleaned rooms that felt untouched, dusted surfaces that held no fingerprints but mine. In the kitchen, Caleb hovered nearby, silent but attentive.
"You don't have to do that," he said when I reached for a heavy pan.
"It's my job," I replied.
He hesitated. "Not everything here is."
I looked at him then, really looked. There were faint scars along his wrist, half hidden by his sleeve. Old. Intentional.
"Elara says the west wing is off-limits," I said.
His eyes flicked instinctively toward the closed corridor at the far end of the hall.
"She's right," he said quickly. "You shouldn't go there."
"Why?"
He opened his mouth then closed it again.
"Because some doors," he said softly, "are easier to keep shut than to open."
That night, the knocking returned.
Three taps.
This time, it came from the hallway outside my room.
I held my breath, heart pounding, every instinct screaming at me to stay still.
The handle didn't move.
The lock didn't turn.
Instead, a voice whispered through the door.
"Justina."
My blood ran cold.
It was Caleb's voice.
But Caleb, I knew with terrible certainty, was downstairs.
And the house was smiling.