The morning sun filtered through the lace curtains like a faded memory. Bly Manor looked peaceful on the outside — still and golden — but inside, Ivy felt anything but calm.
She sat at the breakfast table, barely listening to the clinking of spoons and teacups. Her fingers absentmindedly brushed the ring hidden under the sleeve of her cardigan. Cold. Heavy. Hers.
Kate sat across from her, studying her little sister in silence.
Something had changed in Ivy. She wasn't just quieter. She was distant, distracted, always caught between a shiver and a sigh.
Mrs. Grose moved quietly around them, pouring tea, humming softly. Even she seemed aware that the house held its breath lately.
"Did you sleep okay?" Kate finally asked.
Ivy looked up, startled. "Yeah. Just... weird dreams."
"About what?"
Ivy hesitated. "A mirror."
Before Kate could press further, Flora bounced into the room, cheeks flushed and hair slightly tangled from sleep.
"Miles said he's taking me out today!" she announced, twirling around the room. "He said I could ride the black horse and we can have a picnic by the lake."
Kate's expression sharpened. "What black horse?"
Flora grinned. "You'll see! He brought it back this morning. He said it used to be someone else's, but now it's his. Isn't that funny?"
Ivy's heart dropped.
Kate looked at Mrs. Grose.
The older woman's smile faltered. "The horse..." she murmured. "That old creature... it hasn't been ridden in years. It was—"
"Peter Quint's," Kate finished quietly.
Flora didn't hear. She was too busy singing to herself as she skipped off to get ready.
Mrs. Grose placed the teapot down gently. "That horse was mean. No one's touched him since... Well, since Peter passed. He wouldn't let anyone near."
Kate stood up slowly. "Until now."
Later that afternoon
The sun had warmed the meadow behind Bly. Grass whispered in the breeze, and birds flitted above the treetops.
Ivy, Kate, and Flora stood near the fence by the stables, waiting.
Then they heard it — hooves.
Deep, echoing thuds across the earth. Not light, not gentle.
The black horse emerged from the trees, muscles tense, eyes dark and wild.
And on its back — Miles.
He didn't look like a boy.
He looked like something older than he should be. His back was straight, hands loose but confident on the reins, eyes hidden beneath the shadow of his hair. He didn't smile until he saw Ivy.
The horse stopped in front of her like it knew.
Kate stared at the animal.
"That's not just any horse," she said.
Flora clapped. "He named it Nero!"
Of course he did.
Miles slid off smoothly. He walked to Ivy, taking her hand for a moment. His fingers brushed the edge of her sleeve... the ring beneath.
He smiled.
She looked away.
Kate's voice cut through the moment. "Where did you find the horse?"
"In the stables," Miles answered innocently. "He came to me. Like he was waiting."
Mrs. Grose, who had just arrived with a basket of food, looked up sharply.
Kate exchanged a glance with her.
There was a carved wooden plaque by the stable door.
Ivy saw it as they walked back later, when the picnic was over and the sunlight was turning red.
It was old, scratched, nearly unreadable.
But there, faint and deep, carved by someone long gone:
P. Q. – Property of Peter Quint
Ivy touched the wood. It felt like it pulsed beneath her fingertips.
And deep in her bones, she felt Miles's presence, watching.