THE BREATH BETWEEN THE WALLS

The Pendleton Estate no longer whispered—it watched.

The storm had passed, but the clouds remained, hanging like bruises across the sky. Pale light seeped through the stained-glass windows, fracturing across the floor into red and violet pools that seemed to move when she wasn’t looking. Adira Vale stood in the long corridor where the portrait had fallen, the jagged glass now swept into a neat pile by hands she hadn’t seen.

She no longer asked who did these things. The house answered in its own time.

Elias hadn’t returned since the night he vanished into shadow. Not fully. He lingered in corners, in the reflection of old mirrors, in the scent of smoke and old books. She could feel him in her skin, like an ache that would not dull.

She had dreamed of him. And in her dream, he had touched her. A hand around her throat, not to choke but to claim. He had whispered her name like a curse, like a prayer. She had awakened breathless, aching, alone—but not untouched.

Now she wandered the east wing, drawn by the sound of low piano notes. A melody not of this world. Each step she took was a surrender. A quiet forfeiting of logic, of safety, of the walls she’d built before.

The doors to the music room were open, just slightly. She pushed them with the tips of her fingers, and the hinges moaned in delight. Inside, Elias sat at the grand piano. His back to her. He played like he was remembering something painful, something he loved too much to let die.

He stopped before she could speak.

“I thought you’d run,” he said.

“I did,” she replied. “But only in circles.”

He turned. In the fractured light, his eyes were the color of wet ash. His hair tousled like he’d been fighting sleep or memory. He looked less like a ghost and more like a ruin. Something glorious in its destruction.

“This house isn’t safe,” he said again, though softer now. Like he didn’t mean the building.

“Then why are you here?” she asked.

He smiled, and it wasn’t kind.

“Because I am worse.”

She walked closer. The carpet silenced her steps. She stopped beside the piano, close enough to see the veins in his hands.

“You haunt this place,” she said.

“No,” he replied. “It haunts me. I merely reflect.”

His fingers brushed the keys again, but they played no note.

“What do you want from me, Elias?”

He stood. He was taller than she remembered, or perhaps she was smaller than she had been. His eyes never left hers as he stepped closer, slow, like a predator that didn’t need to rush. She didn’t back away.

“To see if you’d choose the fire,” he murmured. “Even knowing it would burn.”

He reached up, knuckles brushing her jaw, then down to her throat, where her pulse betrayed her. His touch was warm. Too warm.

“You dream of me,” he said.

She didn’t deny it.

“I feel it,” he continued. “When you wake with your skin flushed. When you whisper my name in the dark, not out of fear.”

She closed her eyes. Her body leaned toward him like a flower to poison.

“You left,” she whispered.

“Because I wanted to stay.”

His lips brushed her temple, a kiss that wasn’t a kiss. A promise made of smoke.

“Then why come back?”

“Because I’m tired of resisting what’s already mine.”

He pressed a kiss to her pulse. Her breath hitched. Her hands clenched at her sides, then rose to his shirt, gripping the fabric like it could anchor her.

“Tell me to stop,” he said, mouth against her neck.

She didn’t. Couldn’t. Wouldn’t.

His mouth moved to hers, and when they kissed, it wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t sweet. It was the meeting of twin hungers, old as sin. She tasted regret and longing, ashes and need.

He backed her against the piano, and it groaned in protest. His hands roamed her waist, her spine, learning her like a language he used to speak. Every point of contact sparked, ignited, burned.

When they broke apart, she was gasping. He looked at her like he wanted to devour her.

“This is madness,” she said.

“No,” he said. “This is us.”

A knock shattered the moment.

They both stilled.

The front door.

No one was supposed to come here.

Elias stepped back, shadows already curling around his shoulders like a cloak. He was retreating again. She grabbed his wrist.

“Don’t vanish,” she said.

His smile was sharp. “Then don’t let go.”

But she had to. The door kept knocking. Louder. More urgent.

She ran to the entryway, flung open the door.