Chapter 11 – Blood and Memory
Thunder rolled again, closer this time. The rose on the marble floor trembled with each rumble. Amara crouched slowly, the paper shaking between her fingers as she reread the words.
Welcome home, Damian.
A faint noise came from the staircase behind her—boots scraping wood, the whisper of a door.
"Damian?" she called.
No answer.
She turned, heart pounding, and saw him at the end of the corridor. His eyes were fixed on the note. For a heartbeat, all color drained from his face.
"She's here," he said under his breath. "She's already inside."
Before Amara could speak, the hallway lights snapped off. Darkness swallowed them.
"Stay close to me," he ordered, his hand finding hers. They moved through the shadows, guided only by the glow of the lantern he carried. The air smelled faintly of rain and roses—the same scent Lydia once wore.
A door creaked open below. Footsteps echoed. Slow. Confident.
Damian set the lantern on a table, its light trembling. "She wants us to follow."
"Then don't," Amara whispered.
He looked at her, voice low. "Running won't stop this. It's time I finished what she started."
He descended the stairs, Amara close behind. Each step groaned beneath their weight. In the great hall, the front door stood wide open, letting in the wind and the sound of the sea. A single candle burned on the table beside it.
On the candleholder, another note waited.
> You left me in the dark, Damian. Now I'll show you what it feels like.
Damian's jaw tightened. "She's not just after revenge. She wants to remind me."
"Remind you of what?"
He met her eyes, the answer heavy on his tongue. "Of who I used to be before I met you."
Lightning flashed outside, revealing a figure standing at the gate—Lydia, her coat whipping in the wind, her face half-hidden beneath the storm.
Damian stepped forward. "Lydia!"
She didn't move.
"Why are you doing this?" he shouted.
Her voice carried through the rain, cold and sharp. "Because you buried me while I was still alive."
Then the light went out again.