"The mirror didn't lie. I did."
Flora hadn't spoken all day.
She sat by the window with her doll clutched tight to her chest, lips moving but no sound coming out. The sky outside was gray and drowning. The air in Bly had become thick with decay — like the house was rotting from the inside out.
Ivy stood in the doorway, watching her. The journal was still in her hand, Kate's final words etched into her skin.
But Ivy didn't care anymore.
Not really.
Because everything Kate feared... was true.
And Ivy didn't want saving.
She stepped into the room.
"Flora?" she asked.
Flora slowly turned her head. Her eyes were glassy now, unfocused, as if she were listening to something deep beneath the floorboards.
Or someone.
"He's here," she whispered. "He's always been here."
Ivy knelt down beside her, brushing back the girl's damp hair.
"You mean Miles?"
"No," Flora said. "The one inside."
A shiver sliced through Ivy's spine.
Flora looked at her then, her gaze flickering with something Ivy hadn't seen before — fear.
"You're not my Ivy anymore," Flora said.
Ivy froze.
"...What?"
Flora stood up, her little hands trembling. "He's taken you too."
That night, the mirrors screamed.
Not shattered — not yet — but screaming.
They pulsed with light and flickering shadows. Ivy stared into the one by the hallway and watched her reflection move differently than her.
It smiled when she didn't.
It leaned forward and whispered things she hadn't said aloud.
"Kate's dead because of you."
"You wanted him. You let him in."
"You're his now. Stop pretending otherwise."
She raised her hand to touch the glass—and her reflection didn't follow.
Instead, it reached out first and grabbed her wrist.
She screamed.
The hallway went silent.
Miles was suddenly behind her, arms around her waist, calm, steady, soothing.
"You're okay," he whispered into her neck. "It's just the house. It plays tricks."
She turned to him, wild-eyed.
"Why does it show things that haven't happened?"
Miles's lips curved.
"Because it wants them to."
They kissed again that night.
But this time, it wasn't rushed or stolen.
This time, she initiated it.
And this time... it was longer.
Darker.
More real.
Their hands trembled against each other. Ivy's breath hitched as Miles lifted her, carried her back to his room — not Peter's, not Quint's — but the one he made theirs.
The storm howled outside.
The lake whispered.
Somewhere, a mirror cracked.
The next morning, Flora was gone.
No footprints.
No note.
Only her doll, lying by the lake, one eye missing.
And her name scratched into the dock.
M I S S J E S S E L
Ivy didn't cry.
She couldn't.
She didn't feel like Ivy anymore.
She stood barefoot in the hallway, staring into the cracked mirror, watching her reflection smile wider than her lips could stretch.
Behind her, Miles whispered:
"Do you see it now?"
Ivy nodded.
"I see everything."
He kissed the back of her neck, and she didn't flinch.
"You were always mine," he said. "Even before you arrived."
She opened her eyes the next day and found Kate's necklace wrapped around her neck — the one that had gone missing the night her sister drowned.
The clasp was broken.
It hadn't been put there.
It had been forced on.
She looked in the mirror one last time.
And saw Kate.
Floating.
Reaching.
Begging.
And Ivy turned away.