Elias hadn't slept. Scratching in his walls kept him awake. It matched his heartbeat, relentless. He sat on his bed, knees up.
Clara's journal was open. Her words burned: It's me, but not me. The air was cold, breath fogging. The lamp flickered, dimming.
Blackthorn's cliffs loomed outside. The sea roared below, restless. The locket from the music room lay beside him. Its hair was too fresh, like his own.
The mansion was closing in. Elias felt defiance rising. He wouldn't be its prey. He'd vanish, building an empire to dwarf the Kaels'.
The fight with Caspian erased him. Wine spilled on Caspian's painting. Beatrice's hatred surged, eyes like ice. The family followed her lead.
Gideon, Celeste, Marina shunned him. Their warmth was for Caspian, the favorite. Reginald ignored him, lost in ships. Elias was a ghost.
He wasn't idle. He studied the Kaels' empire—routes, deals, flaws. A trading network could be faster, stronger. The mansion's secrets were his edge.
Elias opened his notebook. X's for flickering lamps, circles for cold spots. He added a claw-like scribble. The scratching lived in his room.
The map was his rebellion. It claimed the mansion's secrets. He paced to keep warm. Avoided the cracked mirror on his wardrobe.
His reflection was wrong last night. Eyes too dark, outline blurred. Like fading into glass. The locket and journal held answers.
He couldn't stay. The walls whispered his name. The library might have clues. Its shelves held Kael history.
Elias stuffed the journal into his bag. Added letters and locket. He slipped into the corridor, avoiding creaky floorboards. The mansion groaned, alive.
A lamp flickered as he passed. Flame steady, light wavered. He marked it, hand unsteady. The mansion watched him.
The library was shadows. High ceilings lost in gloom. Books lined walls, spines cracked, gilded. The air smelled of leather, dust.
Elias once found solace here. Now, it was another place to vanish. He chose a corner table, hidden by shelves. Opened Clara's journal.
Her entries were fear. The shadow grows when I'm alone. It wanted her to join it. Elias's chest tightened, he was alone too.
A thud broke his focus. A book fell across the room. Its cover splayed open. Elias froze, pulse pounding.
The library was empty. The door was closed. He approached the book, air colder. His breath fogged, heavy.
The pages were blank. One word in red ink: Elias. He stumbled back, bag slipping. The lamp above flickered, shadows wild.
His shadow was wrong. Too tall, arms too long, smoky edges. "Stop," he whispered, voice cracking. The shadow stilled, didn't shrink.
The lamp flared. His shadow snapped back, normal. Elias grabbed the book, shoved it in his bag. Retreated to his corner.
The library was too alive. Shadows too sharp, air too cold. He needed another place. The west wing called, lamps flickering there.
It was risky. Gideon worked in the study. Elias had to move. He slipped through corridors, silent.
Tapestries showed ships, storms. Gideon's voice drifted, discussing a merger. Elias eased past. Headed for the old music room.
It was abandoned since his grandmother. Windows boarded, piano draped. The air was cold, teeth chattering. Elias knelt by the fireplace.
He'd heard a hollow echo there. He tapped the stones. One shifted, revealing a cavity. Inside was the locket, engraved C.K.—Clara Kael.
He opened it. A portrait of a sharp-eyed woman. A lock of dark hair, too fresh. His stomach lurched.
He slammed it shut. Shoved it in his pocket. The scratching started, from the ceiling. It circled the room.
Elias backed to the door. His notebook fell open. He didn't stop to grab it. The shadows were too sharp.
He ran, the mansion's pulse chasing him. Back in his room, he locked the door. It was useless. The hum was everywhere.
He sat on his bed. Locket in one hand, journal in the other. The family dined below, laughing. Beatrice's hatred buried him.
But Elias wasn't done. He'd use the mansion's secrets. Build an empire to make them choke on regret. The scratching grew louder, calling his name.