A minute passed.
Then another.
The silence was thick—like the mansion itself was holding its breath.
Zahir had vanished into the lamp once more, leaving behind only the faint shimmer of magic and the echo of his last words.
Mrs. Hodgins stood still, her eyes locked on the lamp.
Then, slowly, she smirked.
She reached out.
Rubbed the lamp again.
The air cracked.
Light spilled out—golden, sharp, and pulsing.
Zahir emerged.
But he wasn't the same.
His posture was looser, more confident. His shirt was half-unbuttoned, revealing a lean chest marked with faint glowing sigils. His sleeves were rolled up, his hair tousled like he'd just walked out of a storm. His eyes—once warm—now gleamed with something darker.
He didn't speak.
He just stood there.
And smirked.
Brittany blinked. "Okay… what the hell?"
Even Mrs. Hodgins flushed slightly, her smirk faltering for a moment.
Zahir radiated bad boy energy—like he'd stepped out of a cursed romance novel and decided to make it personal.
Mrs. Hodgins cleared her throat. "Kneel."
Zahir tilted his head.
Then slowly, deliberately, dropped to one knee.
But his eyes never left hers.
Meanwhile, Mira crept through the playhouse.
The air was stale. The toys were faded. The walls seemed to absorb light rather than reflect it.
It felt… wrong.
Like the room had forgotten how to be alive.
She scanned the space, her flashlight flickering.
Then she saw it.
A single piece of wood.
Clean. Untouched. Resting on a shelf like it didn't belong.
She stepped closer.
It pulsed faintly.
And the room held its breath.
To be continued…