Jamie wasn't stupid. He had missed things before, sure—ignored details, trusted too easily—but he wasn't the kind of person who failed to connect obvious dots.
Which was exactly why the thought hit him so hard.
It didn't feel like a theory. It felt like something already true.
His throat tightened. "You… what are you saying, Lucien?"
His voice sounded wrong, even to himself. Too tight. Too forced.
"I was just with him today. The detective was there too. We talked. I saw him eat." He shook his head, as if the motion alone could force reality back into place. "You're telling me that was… what? Fake?"
Lucien didn't look at him. He kept his eyes on the road, hands steady on the wheel, expression calm in a way that made everything worse.
"I'm telling you," he said quietly, "that from the moment you came back to this town, you were already inside her game."
The words settled into the car like weight.
Jamie felt it press down on his chest. He wanted to argue, to deny it outright—but his mind had already started replaying everything.
His father hadn't moved much.
Had barely reacted.
Even his voice… it had felt off. Not enough to question at the time, but now—
Now it stood out.
Jamie swallowed hard.
"…No," he muttered again, but there was no conviction left in it.
Lucien shifted gears smoothly, the engine rising slightly as the car sped forward through the empty road. "Mary Shaw doesn't rush," he continued. "She doesn't need to. She works through bloodlines. One generation at a time. Clean. Systematic."
Jamie stared ahead, his hands slowly curling into fists. "…And now it's my turn."
Lucien didn't answer.
He didn't need to.
The silence that followed said enough.
By the time they reached the estate, the air already felt wrong. The house stood in darkness, its outline barely visible against the night. No lights. No movement.
No life.
Lucien stopped the car and stepped out immediately. "Stay sharp," he said, already moving toward the entrance.
Jamie followed, his heartbeat loud in his ears.
Behind them, the Walker couple didn't even try to get out. They stayed in the car, watching from a distance, as if crossing that invisible line meant stepping into something they could never escape.
Lucien didn't hesitate. He reached the door and kicked it open in one clean motion.
The impact echoed through the house, loud and violent.
Jamie flinched, then hurried after him.
Inside, the air felt stale—thick with something that had nothing to do with dust or time. The entire place felt abandoned, but not in the normal sense. It wasn't empty. It felt… used.
Like something had been here.
And still was.
The only light came from the fireplace. Flames flickered weakly, casting long, shifting shadows across the walls.
"Dad?" Jamie called out, his voice uncertain.
No response.
He stepped forward slowly, drawn toward the figure sitting in the wheelchair by the fire.
"…Dad?"
The man didn't move.
Didn't react.
Jamie reached out, his hand trembling slightly as it touched the shoulder.
Cold.
Too cold.
The body tipped forward instantly, collapsing out of the chair.
Jamie froze.
For a moment, his mind simply refused to process what he was seeing. Then the details forced themselves into place.
The hollow torso.
The unnatural structure.
The mechanism inside.
His father wasn't just dead.
He had been turned into a puppet.
The realization hit like a physical blow. Jamie staggered back slightly, his breathing turning uneven as everything he had ignored came rushing back at once.
The stillness.
The voice.
The lack of movement.
All of it.
"…No…" he whispered, but the word meant nothing now.
And that was when the world went silent.
Not quieter.
Silent.
The fire still burned, but it made no sound. The air didn't move. Even his own breathing felt distant, like it didn't belong to him.
Jamie didn't notice at first.
Because something else had already stepped into the room.
From the darkness behind them, a figure emerged.
Ella.
Or something wearing her face.
Her expression didn't sit right. One half of it moved naturally, the other stretched into something too wide, too sharp, too deliberate.
Mary Shaw.
Her gaze slid past Jamie as if he didn't exist. It locked directly onto Lucien.
There was hatred in it.
Focused. Personal.
She moved forward slowly, her steps making no sound against the floor. The silence swallowed everything.
One step.
Two.
Three.
Lucien didn't turn. He stood still, as if he hadn't noticed her at all.
The hand rose—pale, thin, unnatural—reaching toward him.
And then—
Lucien moved.
Fast enough to break the illusion completely.
He turned in a single motion, their eyes meeting for the first time.
And he smiled.
"Surprise."
The word landed before she could react.
For a fraction of a second—barely noticeable—she hesitated.
That was all he needed.
Lucien stepped forward, his entire body moving as one. There was no wasted motion, no hesitation. His stance grounded, his weight shifted perfectly—
And then he punched.
The impact was violent.
It didn't sound like hitting a person. It sounded hollow, wrong, like something breaking from the inside.
Ella's body folded instantly, lifting slightly off the ground—
But it didn't fly.
Lucien's hand snapped up, grabbing her by the head and dragging her back down before she could be thrown away.
He slammed her into the floor with brutal force.
The ground shook.
A scream tore out of her, high-pitched and distorted, filled with something far deeper than pain.
Fear.
Real fear.
Lucien didn't stop. Another strike followed, then another—each one precise, controlled, carrying weight that went beyond physical force.
This wasn't just strength.
Something else moved through his attacks.
Something that reached deeper.
Mary Shaw felt it.
And she hated it.
Behind him, Jamie finally turned, his expression breaking completely as he saw what was happening.
"…Ella?"
The name came out weak, confused, angry all at once.
Because now he understood.
She hadn't been a victim.
She had been part of it.
From the beginning.
But the fight wasn't over.
The scream cut off abruptly.
And the atmosphere shifted again.
The silence returned—heavier this time.
The shadows along the walls seemed to stretch, distort, move in ways they shouldn't. The air grew colder, pressing in from every direction.
Jamie's breath hitched. His heart started racing uncontrollably as something crept into his mind.
Fear.
Pure, overwhelming fear.
It wasn't natural.
It was being forced into him.
His mouth opened—
Just a little—
Lucien's voice cut through everything.
"Focus."
Calm. Steady. Unshaken.
Jamie froze.
"Don't react," Lucien said again, not even raising his voice.
The pressure cracked slightly.
Just enough.
Jamie forced himself to breathe, dragging in air as the crushing fear loosened its grip.
The shadows stilled.
The illusion broke.
Mary Shaw's expression twisted, something close to disbelief flashing across her face.
"How…?"
Lucien looked at her, finally giving her his full attention.
Annoyance flickered in his eyes.
"Too loud."
His hand tightened into a fist.
No buildup this time.
No pause.
Just movement.
Fast.
Direct.
And absolutely deliberate.
The punch came down.