The knock came again. Knock. Knock. Knock. Three slow, deliberate taps. Like a countdown without numbers. Like the house itself was breathing them in—holding them there. Each sound didn't just fill the silence. It replaced it. The noise pressed into the walls, into the floor beneath their feet, humming through the wood like a pulse. It wasn't loud. But it was deep. They felt it in their chests, like a second heartbeat. In their teeth. In their bones. Mia's breath caught. She gripped the notebook tighter, as if the old leather might offer some kind of anchor. Daniel backed up, one hand out like he could shield the others with it. Leah stood completely still, her face pale, lips moving without sound—like she was mouthing a prayer she hadn't used in years. And then— The floorboards outside the study creaked. One soft step. Then another. Slow. Unhurried. Whatever was out there… It wasn't rushing. It knew exactly where they were. And it knew they remembered. Leah took a shaky step back from the door, her breath catching in her throat. Her eyes didn't leave the wood—not for a second. She stared like she expected it to crack straight down the middle, like something on the other side might shove its way through at any moment. Her arms hung stiff at her sides, fingers twitching, trying not to tremble but failing. Daniel stood beside her, jaw clenched so tight the muscle ticked. He didn't speak. Didn't move. But his right foot had shifted forward—just enough to notice. Like part of him was ready to fight whatever came through that door. And the other part? The other part was ready to run. The hallway beyond stayed dark. But the air changed again—thicker, colder, humming with something just outside their reach. Mia could feel it too. Like the space between them and the door had become aware. Not just haunted—watching. Waiting. And in that silence, every second felt like it was being pulled tighter. Like the house was holding its breath with them. Mia didn't move. She stood rooted in place, the worn leather notebook clutched tight against her chest like it might somehow shield her from whatever was pressing in from the hallway. The weight of it wasn't metaphorical anymore. It was real. Heavy with secrets. With guilt. With something dark and unfinished that had lived in this house longer than any of them. She could feel it in her arms, in her ribs, in the way the breath in her lungs refused to settle. Her father's words looped in her head, slow and cold like dripping water. "Elliot remembers now." "The protection is gone." She didn't know what the protection was—what it had been. But she knew what it meant now. It meant they were exposed. It meant something had shifted the second they walked through the front door. And whatever lines their father had drawn to keep Elliot buried in silence… they were gone. Shattered. Erased. Outside the study door, the floorboards groaned again. Another step. Closer. And still, Mia stood still—arms wrapped around the notebook like it held the only pieces of the truth they had left.And what happens when protection is gone? Mia didn't want to find out. But the house did. The knock stopped. Just like that. Like whatever was behind it no longer needed to ask. A beat passed. No one breathed. Then— Creeeeeeak. The study door began to open on its own. Slow. Deliberate. The hinges groaned like they hadn't moved in years, metal straining under invisible hands. The air shifted again, cold air spilling into the room like something had just crossed a threshold. The hallway beyond was dim—not pitch black, but washed in a fading gray light. Sunlight still filtered through the tall windows at the end of the hall, but it was weak now. Dying. The kind of light that didn't warm anything. Long, crooked shadows stretched across the floor. Thin. Reaching. Like fingers dragging themselves forward, inch by inch, toward the study. But the hall itself? Empty. No figure. No sound of footsteps. No breath. Only the stillness. That wrong, unnatural stillness that made your skin crawl without knowing why. It felt less like they were being watched… And more like they'd just been let in. "It's baiting us," Leah whispered. Her voice was barely there, as if speaking louder might draw it closer. Mia's eyes stayed locked on the open door "No," she said quietly. "It's reminding us." Daniel turned to her, frustration and fear battling behind his eyes. "Reminding us of what, Mia?" he snapped, but his voice cracked at the edges. "Reminding us that we had a brother we were all forced to forget?"His hands clenched into fists at his sides. "That our dad made some kind of deal with… with something?" He didn't even try to hide the disbelief. Or the anger. But underneath it—Mia could hear it—was the same thing twisting in her gut: Dread. Mia looked down at the notebook in her hands. The pages that should've never been read. The words their father had never spoken aloud. "Yeah," she said softly. "Exactly that." Because deep down, she knew. This wasn't just about memory. It was about consequence. And something—someone—was done waiting in the dark. Mia didn't answer right away. The words hung just beyond her reach—like a name caught on the edge of memory, teasing but refusing to surface. Instead, she took a step forward, crossing the threshold into the dim hallway before either of them could stop her. "We won't get the truth by standing still," she said, voice steady despite the knot tightening in her chest. Daniel let out a heavy sigh, rubbing the back of his neck as if trying to shake off the weight pressing down on them all. "You're too calm about this," he muttered, eyes flicking toward her. But Mia just kept moving, drawn deeper into the shadows where the past waited—patient and unforgiving. "I'm not calm," Mia said quietly, her voice steady but fierce. "I'm just not willing to stay trapped in the dark again." Her words hung between them, sharp and real. The three of them stepped out into the hallway together. The air felt different now— Colder. Thicker. Like the house had exhaled something unseen but heavy, something ancient and still watching. Shadows seemed to shift just beyond the edges of their vision, as if the walls themselves were breathing in time with their racing hearts. The silence pressed in, louder than any noise. And whatever waited in that silence… Was waiting for them to move. They moved cautiously down the hallway, feet barely making a sound on the worn wooden floorboards. Every step made the house groan—a low, tired sound that echoed through the empty space like a warning. The shadows along the walls flickered and danced, though no light flickered anywhere nearby. It was as if the darkness itself was alive, shifting just beyond sight. Mia paused at the top of the staircase, heart tightening in her chest. Her eyes lifted slowly toward the attic door. It wasn't there before—not when they first walked in. She was certain of that. The door sat at the end of the narrow hallway, closed but waiting. Like a secret the house had only just decided to reveal. But now the attic door hung open, the ladder stretched downward like a silent invitation—or a challenge. Leah froze, eyes wide. "We're not going up there again, right?" she whispered, voice trembling. Mia glanced back at her, then up at the dark opening. "I think we have to," she said softly, the weight of those words heavier than any fear. "There's more we need to see." Daniel pulled the flashlight from his pocket, fingers tight around the cold metal. He cast a quick glance between them, voice low but sharp. "I swear, if something touches me this time, I'm burning this whole place down." A nervous laugh escaped Leah's lips, but the tension didn't leave the room. They all knew—what waited upstairs wasn't done with them yet. They climbed the ladder slowly, each rung creaking beneath their weight. The attic swallowed them whole, darker now than when they'd first seen it—shadows pooling in corners like spilled ink. In the far corner, the crib still sat, worn and empty. The music box perched on top of a folded blanket, its once-bright colors faded with time. The air felt different here—dry and brittle, like a throat long silenced, waiting to speak again. But this time, beneath the familiar silence, there was something else. Something waiting. Something watching. A figure stood at the far edge of the attic, barely visible beyond the cluttered boxes and tangled shadows. A small frame, still and quiet, bathed in the faint shaft of light spilling from the open attic hatch above. Mia's breath caught. She knew before he even moved. "Elliot," she whispered, voice trembling. The boy turned slowly toward her. His face was pale, but not with sickness—more like the pale of someone who'd been waiting a very long time. His eyes were different. Too deep, too knowing for someone so young. They locked onto hers with a weight that pressed heavy against her chest, like he carried stories no one had told. "You remember now," Elliot said, his voice low but steady, echoing through the quiet attic. Mia's throat tightened. She barely dared to breathe. "Yes," she whispered back. "We do." Behind her, Leah's soft sobs broke the silence—fragile and raw. Daniel said nothing, but his clenched jaw told its own story. Elliot took a slow step forward, eyes never leaving hers. "I waited," he said simply. Mia's voice cracked as she spoke, the weight of years pressing down. "We forgot you." "But we didn't know." She swallowed hard, looking away for a moment. "He—Dad—he took you from us." "He made us forget." The boy nodded once, his eyes dark and serious. "To save you," he said softly. Daniel stepped forward, voice sharp with unanswered questions. "What did he save us from?" "What was he so afraid of?" Elliot's gaze drifted slowly toward the far corner of the attic. Without a word, he lifted his small hand and pointed. At first, there was nothing but shadow and dust. But then, as if pulled from the darkness itself, a shape began to form. Faint at first—a blur against the dim light. Then clearer. A figure, tall and looming, slowly taking shape right before their eyes. Tall. Cloaked in black, the figure seemed to drink in the scarce light around it. Its face was hidden behind a veil darker than any shadow—an abyss where no eyes could be seen. It stood perfectly still, like a statue carved from night itself, waiting. Leah's fingers tightened on Mia's sleeve, her voice trembling. "What… what is that?" Elliot's voice cut through the silence, soft but unmistakable. "That is the one he made the deal with." "The Collector," Mia breathed, her voice barely more than a whisper. The figure remained motionless, silent—yet its presence filled the attic, pressing down like a weight that made the air thinner, colder, harder to breathe. Daniel's voice cracked as he muttered under his breath, more to himself than anyone else. "He gave you up…" "…to that." Elliot's eyes met Daniel's, steady and unflinching. "He gave me in exchange for your safety." "But he didn't pay in full." The Collector's head tilted ever so slightly, as if acknowledging the truth in those words. Mia stepped forward, hands trembling but determined. "Then what's left to pay?" she asked, voice barely steady. The attic seemed to breathe around them— The floor beneath their feet glowed softly, faint red lines weaving together, forming a circle. Strange symbols flickered into existence around them, ancient shapes that Mia couldn't begin to understand. Elliot stood firm, unshaken by the sudden change. "There is always a balance," he said quietly. "What do you mean?" Mia's voice cracked, a thread of fear weaving through her words. Elliot's gaze was steady, sad. "I was never enough." The glowing circle beneath them flared brighter, a pulsing heat radiating through the wooden boards. Leah yelped, stumbling backward, eyes wide with panic. "We have to get out of here," Daniel urged, voice urgent. "Now." Mia spun around—but where the attic hatch had been, there was only solid ceiling. No opening. No escape. They were sealed in. The Collector lifted its hand slowly. The glowing light in the attic dimmed, pulsing with a slow, steady rhythm—like a heartbeat echoing through the silence. Mia's legs gave way, and she sank to her knees, breath catching. "What does it want?" she whispered, voice trembling. Elliot's eyes met hers, calm but heavy. "You," he said simply. "One of you." "One for one. That's how it works." Daniel's voice rose, fierce and unyielding. "No. Absolutely not." Elliot didn't argue. He only looked back at Mia, his gaze soft but firm. "You can leave. If you choose." "But the house won't let you all go again. Not without a replacement." Silence settled thick between them. Then Mia's voice broke through—quiet, steady, and full of resolve. "I'll stay." Daniel whipped around, eyes wide with shock and disbelief. "Are you out of your mind?" "Don't try to talk me out of it." His voice cracked, desperation bleeding through. "I'm your brother!" Mia's gaze sharpened, fierce and unyielding. "And so is he," she shot back, nodding toward Elliot. "He was left behind because someone else made a choice." She took a steady breath. "I won't repeat it." Leah crumpled to the floor, her sobs breaking the heavy silence. "There has to be another way!" she cried, voice shaking with desperation. Elliot's tone was calm, almost resigned. "There isn't. Not now." Mia faced the Collector, her voice steady and unwavering. "You want someone? Take me." The attic fell into stillness—the glowing symbols fading, the air growing quieter. Elliot stepped closer, disbelief flickering in his eyes. "You would give yourself up… for me?" She met his gaze without hesitation. "You never should've been the one to pay." The Collector slowly lowered its hand, the weight of the moment hanging heavy in the air. Then something unexpected happened—Elliot smiled. Not just a small smile, but one that lit up his whole face, softening the shadows that had clung to him for so long. "I remember now," he said quietly. "That's all I needed." Suddenly, the glowing circle vanished—fading like a breath held too long. The attic hatch reappeared above them, its wooden frame once again open to the dim light beyond. And just like that, the Collector was gone—vanished without a trace. "Wait," Mia whispered, eyes wide. "What just happened?" Elliot met her gaze, calm and certain. "You didn't need to die," he said. "You needed to choose." "Someone needed to remember me. To acknowledge me. "That's how the deal breaks." "So… you're free?" Mia asked softly. Elliot shook his head, uncertainty in his eyes. "I don't know," he said. "But I'm not angry anymore." He took a step back, his edges blurring, fading like smoke caught on a breeze. "Mia?" She reached out instinctively. "Thank you," she whispered. "For forgiving us." His smile stayed just a moment longer, gentle and sad. "Don't forget again." Then—he was gone. The attic was just an attic once more. The three siblings looked at one another, breath caught, stunned silent. Then Daniel let out a shaky laugh—a sound of disbelief, relief, and something fragile like hope. "Can we go now?" Mia nodded slowly, the weight in her chest finally lightening. "Yeah." "Let's go home."
