I dreamed of fire.
Not the wild, consuming kind, but a careful burn controlled, intentional. Flames traced symbols into the floor as voices murmured words I had once known by heart. I stood at the center of it all, barefoot, unafraid, my hands clasped around someone else's.
Promise me, he whispered.
I already did, I answered.
I woke with a gasp, my chest tight, my skin slick with sweat.
The walls were humming.
It wasn't loud just a low, constant vibration, like a distant engine running beneath the house. I sat up slowly, listening. The sound wasn't coming from above this time. It was all around me. Inside me.
My door remained locked.
I swung my legs over the side of the bed and pressed my ear to the wood. Beyond it, the hallway breathed softly, the floorboards expanding and contracting like ribs. I had the sudden, horrifying certainty that the house was not asleep.
It was waiting.
"Justina," a voice whispered not from the hallway, but from the wall beside my bed.
I recoiled, my back hitting the headboard.
"Stop," I whispered. "Please."
The voice softened. "You never said that before."
I squeezed my eyes shut. "You're not real."
A pause. Then gentle laughter.
"That's what you said the first time, too."
Memories pressed forward, uninvited. Candlelight. Chalk dust. A room hidden beneath another house entirely different from Ravenwood, but similar in all the ways that mattered. A younger version of me, reckless and certain, believing love could be made eternal if you just wanted it badly enough.
I slid down against the wall, shaking.
"You chose me," the voice murmured. "You always do."
"No," I whispered. "I chose us."
Silence followed.
Then the humming stopped.
Morning arrived like an apology.
The lock clicked open just after six. I didn't wait for the bell before stepping into the hallway. Elara stood there, dressed impeccably, her expression unreadable.
"You look pale," she observed.
"I didn't sleep," I said.
She nodded as though this pleased her. "Good. You're remembering."
I stiffened. "You knew."
"I hoped," she corrected. "But hope is dangerous when misplaced."
I followed her downstairs in silence. Caleb was already in the kitchen, hands braced on the counter, his head bowed. He looked up when he saw me, relief and fear crashing together in his eyes.
"She heard it," Elara said calmly, pouring tea. "The house spoke to her."
Caleb swallowed. "Then it's too late."
"For what?" I demanded.
"For pretending," Elara replied. "Sit, Justina. It's time you knew the truth."
I didn't sit.
"Elara," Caleb warned.
She waved him off. "You've carried this long enough."
She turned to me. "Ravenwood doesn't choose people at random. It never has. It draws those who can hear it. Those who have… touched the edge of devotion."
"What does that mean?" I asked.
"It means," she said gently, "you've done this before."
The room tilted.
"I don't"
"You loved someone enough to try to bind them to you," Elara continued. "Enough to believe death was merely a doorway."
The fire from my dream flickered behind my eyes.
"No," I whispered.
"You didn't mean to trap it," she said. "But the house grew around your grief. Fed on it. Learned to echo it."
Caleb stepped forward. "You didn't know what you were doing."
"I knew," I said suddenly.
They both froze.
The memories were no longer fragments. They were whole now terrifying in their clarity.
I saw him again. Elias. His smile. His certainty. His belief that love was something you could carve into the world and force it to stay. I remembered the ritual. The words. The moment everything went wrong.
I remembered the house answering.
"I asked it to keep him," I said hoarsely. "I didn't ask what it would take in return."
Elara's gaze softened. "It took you."
"No," Caleb said sharply. "It took him."
A presence pressed against the walls, furious now.
"You broke the promise," the house whispered, its voice splintering through the air like cracking glass.
The lights flickered. Dishes rattled. The floor beneath us groaned.
"Elara," I said. "You're not a victim. You're its caretaker."
She smiled sadly. "Someone has to be."
"And Caleb?" I asked.
Her eyes flicked to him. "Caleb is the reminder."
He flinched.
"He looks like him," I realized. "Doesn't he?"
Caleb's voice was barely audible. "I was born in this house."
The truth slammed into place with brutal force.
"You didn't just bring me here," I said. "You brought me back."
"Yes," Elara said. "Because it's waking. And it won't settle without you."
The walls shuddered violently now. A crack split the ceiling, dust raining down.
"I don't belong to it anymore," I said. "I survived it."
The house laughed a deep, reverberating sound that vibrated in my bones.
"You belong where your love lives," it said. "You belong with him."
A door slammed open upstairs.
Footsteps heavy, deliberate began descending.
Caleb grabbed my hand. "We have to end this."
"How?" I asked.
He met my eyes. "The same way it began."
We ran.
Not toward the exit, but upward toward the west wing, toward the door I had sworn not to open again. The house screamed as we passed, walls warping, hallways stretching impossibly long.
At the end of the corridor, the door stood wide open.
Inside, the room glowed with faint, pulsing light. Symbols etched into the floor burned softly, reawakened by my presence. At the center stood a figure tall, familiar, wrong.
Elias smiled at me with Caleb's eyes.
"You came back," he said lovingly.
"I came to let you go," I replied.
His expression twisted. "You promised forever."
"I promised love," I said. "And love doesn't imprison."
The house roared, furious.
Caleb stepped beside me, his grip steady. "Choose," he said. "End it or stay."
I looked at the thing wearing my past.
Then I stepped forward.
And the house held its breath.