The lake called her again.
It had been doing that a lot lately—pulling at Ivy's dreams with soft, wet whispers. Sometimes, she was floating. Sometimes, she was drowning. Sometimes, someone was pulling her down.
But tonight... she was standing in it.
Water up to her knees. The air smelled of moss and secrets. A pale moon sat heavy above Bly. Silent. Watching.
Something moved beneath the surface. Circling her ankles.
She looked down—and saw her own reflection. But it wasn't hers.
Its eyes were black.
Its mouth opened, slowly, unnaturally.
It whispered:
"Let me in."
Ivy woke up choking on her breath. Her sheets tangled. Her body... sweating. Her heart racing. A soft sound echoed in the room.
She turned.
And saw Miles.
Standing silently in the corner. Watching.
Just like the dream.
"Miles?" Her voice cracked.
He stepped forward, barefoot, shirtless, in flannel pajama pants. He looked calm. But his eyes—those beautiful, shadowed eyes—were hollow.
"I heard you scream."
"You—you were in my dream," she whispered.
He smirked. "Was I good?"
Ivy blinked. "What?"
He stepped closer.
"You dream about me a lot, don't you?"
"I..." She couldn't finish.
He touched the side of her face. Cold fingers. Gentle pressure.
"Your skin feels like it's burning," he whispered. "Do you feel it too?"
Ivy shuddered.
She didn't move away.
Because she wanted him to stay.
Downstairs, Kate stirred. Her lamp was still on. Notes, drawings, and old photos scattered her desk. Her eyes, half-closed, locked on one picture: Miss Jessel. Alone by the lake. In the background—Peter Quint.
Kate's hand trembled as she picked up another sheet. A handwritten letter. From Mrs. Grose.
She read the lines again, heart sinking.
"He's in the boy now. I see it. I feel it. Peter is back. I fear for Ivy. Please take her away."
She dropped the letter.
No. No, this couldn't be real. Ghosts weren't real. Possession? Spirits?
But she had seen the signs.
And Ivy... she wasn't Ivy anymore.
Back in the room, Miles sat on Ivy's bed.
Too close.
Too still.
"I can't stop thinking about you," he said.
She stared at him. Confused. Flushed. Terrified of what she felt... but more terrified of how much she liked it.
"I shouldn't want this," she whispered.
"Why not?"
"You're—this isn't normal."
"Neither are you anymore," he said softly.
His hand slid to her waist.
And Ivy didn't stop him.