Ivy waited until the house fell silent. Until the soft creaks of the old walls settled into stillness and the wind outside turned into nothing but a whisper behind the windows. Her room was heavy with shadows, but her mind was louder.
Don't go back there, she heard Kate's voice echo in her thoughts, even though Kate hadn't said anything. She was still asleep, just one door down.
But Miles's words were louder.
"Things bloom there you don't want to wake."
It sounded like a warning. But it felt more like an invitation.
She slipped into her boots, threw a sweater over her nightdress, and crept down the stairs, careful not to make the floorboards scream. Bly was the kind of house that remembered every step—every echo hung in the air too long.
Outside, the garden path was colder than before. The hedges whispered as she pushed through them, branches snagging her sleeves like hands trying to stop her. When she stepped into the Red Garden, it was like crossing into a dream.
The flowers weren't red anymore.
They were black.
The moonlight gave them a ghostly hue, and the angel statue looked alive, staring at her with its cracked eye. Ivy approached the bench slowly, heart pounding.
Something was different.
At the foot of the bench, half-buried in soil, was a small metal box. Old, rusted, and locked. She knelt down, dirt scraping her knees, and tugged at it until it came loose. Her hands trembled. She didn't know why. Maybe she expected something to scream out of it.
Instead, she heard something else.
Footsteps.
She turned around fast—but it was only Miles, leaning against the tree just beyond the statue, arms crossed.
"You weren't supposed to come," he said, almost disappointed.
"Then why did you tell me not to?" she shot back, holding the box tightly.
Miles walked toward her slowly, the way he always did—like he had all the time in the world. "Because I wanted to see if you'd listen."
He crouched beside her, eyes flicking to the box. "What is it?"
"I don't know," she whispered. "It was under the roses."
"Let me see." He reached for it, but she pulled it back.
"I found it," she said.
A pause. Then he laughed—softly, darkly.
"Okay," he said, sitting beside her on the bench. His thigh brushed hers. She felt the heat of him through her sweater. "Then open it."
"It's locked."
Miles leaned in closer. "Want me to break it?"
His voice dropped just enough to make her heart jump. She didn't answer right away, distracted by the way the moonlight lit his eyes—making them look almost silver.
"Why are you always following me?" she asked suddenly.
"I'm not following you." His voice was calm. "I'm watching you."
"That's even worse."
"No. It's not," he said softly. "You like it."
Her breath caught in her throat. For a second, she hated how well he could see through her. But at the same time, she wanted him to see even deeper. That scared her most of all.
Miles leaned closer, lips near her ear.
"You remind me of her," he whispered.
"Miss Jessel?" she asked before she could stop herself.
He said nothing. Just looked at her like he'd already said too much. His hand brushed hers.
Ivy didn't pull away.
The box remained unopened on her lap.
And somewhere in the silence, a rose petal fell from the tree above them—landing perfectly in Miles's palm. He didn't blink. Just crushed it slowly between his fingers until it crumbled into red dust.