Chapter 16: A Deal with Darkness

The night stretched before them, thick with the scent of damp earth and decay. Evelyn’s newly solid form tingled with an unfamiliar energy. Shadows clung to her, their presence more than mere tricks of the light—they moved when she moved, an extension of her very being.

She clenched her fingers, reveling in the sensation of something tangible beneath them. It was intoxicating. She had spent so long in an existence of weightlessness, of drifting. Now, for the first time since her death, she was real.

Azrael watched her, his smirk deepening. “Careful now, ghost. Power has a way of consuming those who wield it carelessly.”

Evelyn exhaled, the breath unnecessary but grounding. “I don’t intend to be careless.”

Azrael inclined his head. “Good.” He extended his hand, and with a flick of his fingers, the air around them wavered. “Let’s find Laurence.”

The world twisted. Shadows curled around them like living smoke, and in a blink, the ruined mansion melted away. When the darkness receded, they stood before an opulent estate, untouched by time.

The Duvall Manor.

Evelyn’s breath hitched. The sight of it stirred something deep within her—an ache, a memory buried just beneath the surface. She knew this place.

She had lived here.

The realization sent a tremor through her, but she forced herself to focus. This was not a time for weakness. Laurence Duvall was inside, and he would pay for what he had done.

Azrael stepped forward, surveying the grand entrance with mild amusement. “I was expecting something more... sinister. Your murderer lives in luxury.”

Evelyn’s fingers twitched, shadows curling at her feet in response to her anger. “He’s always lived this way. Cold. Unshaken. While I—” Her voice caught, but she swallowed the words. “No more.”

Azrael’s grin sharpened. “That’s the spirit.”

She turned toward the manor, its towering facade illuminated by golden lamplight. The windows were tall, their glass gleaming like polished eyes watching her approach. Memories stirred at the edges of her mind—laughter at a grand piano, whispered conversations in candlelit halls, the faint scent of jasmine in the air.

And then—blood.

She shuddered. “How do we do this?”

Azrael tilted his head. “That depends. Do you want him to see you coming? Or do you want him to fear the dark before it swallows him whole?”

Evelyn considered the question. A part of her craved to see the terror in Laurence’s eyes when he realized she had returned. But another part—one she hadn’t known existed—wanted something more.

She wanted him to suffer.

A slow, cold smile curved her lips. “Let’s make him afraid.”

Azrael’s laughter was low and delighted. “Now you’re thinking like a devil.”

With a flick of his wrist, the front doors of the manor creaked open. The warm glow inside spilled out, welcoming yet utterly unaware of the storm about to enter.

Evelyn stepped forward, the shadows curling tighter around her. She could feel it now—the hunger of the darkness Azrael had given her, the raw power thrumming beneath her skin.

She was no longer just a ghost.

She was vengeance.

And Laurence Duvall was about to learn what it meant to fear the dead.

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