POV: Sable
I was still standing at the gate, frozen, staring up at that curtain, when a hand closed around my arm.
Not gently.
"Move," the guard said. His grip was tight — not painful yet, but close. Like a warning. Like he wanted me to know that if I did not walk on my own, he would walk me himself.
I pulled my arm free and walked.
The moment I stepped through the front door, the sounds changed. The forest disappeared behind me like someone had slammed a door shut. Inside, everything was quieter — too quiet. But my ears were still buzzing from the drive, still picking up things they should not be able to pick up. The creak of wood settling in the walls. The distant hum of a refrigerator two rooms away. And footsteps. Someone walking toward me from the end of the hallway, slow and deliberate, like they were enjoying every step.
A woman appeared from the shadows at the top of a short staircase. She walked down each step like she owned the entire building, and maybe she did. She was tall, with black hair pulled back tight and eyes that were sharp and amber-colored — the kind of eyes that made you feel like you were being measured and found lacking all at once.
She stopped right in front of me. Close. Too close. She tilted her head and looked me up and down, not fast, not quick — slow. Like she was reading every single thing about me and filing it away.
"So," she said. Her voice was smooth, but there was something underneath it — something cold. "You are the one."
It was not a question. It was not friendly. It was the way you would say it if you found a stray dog on your doorstep and were trying to decide whether to kick it or ignore it.
"I am Thalia," she said. "I run this house."
"Where is Mr. Ravenclaw?" I asked. My voice came out steadier than I expected.
Thalia smiled. It did not reach her eyes. "Busy. You will see him at dinner tonight." She turned and started walking up the staircase, clearly expecting me to follow. I did. "Until then, you stay in your room. You do not wander. You do not talk to anyone. You do not touch anything that does not belong to you."
"Everything belongs to someone else here," I said quietly.
Thalia stopped on the stairs. She did not turn around, but I saw her shoulders tighten — just for a second. Then she kept walking.
She opened a door on the second floor and stepped aside. I walked in. The room was fine — a bed, a window, a dresser. But the window looked out at nothing but dark, endless forest. No road. No town. No way out that I could see. Thalia stood in the doorway behind me, watching me look around.
"Dinner is at eight," she said. "Do not be late. Do not embarrass him. And do not speak unless he speaks to you first." She paused. "One more thing."
I turned around.
Her smile was gone now. Her face was completely flat, completely blank, and somehow that was scarier than the fake smile had been.
"Do not think you are special," she said. "You are not the first girl he has brought here. And the ones before you did not last long."
She left. The door clicked shut behind her, and I heard the lock turn.
I stood there for a long time, listening to her footsteps get farther away down the hallway. Then I sat on the edge of the bed and pressed my palms against my knees to stop them from shaking.
The ones before you did not last long.
What did that mean? What happened to them?
I did not have time to think about it. At eight o'clock exactly, the door unlocked on its own — no one opened it, it just clicked and swung open — and I knew it was time.
The dining room was lit by candles. Long table. One man at the head of it. Garrick Ravenclaw was big and broad, with silver threading through his dark hair and eyes that were the coldest I had ever seen. Not angry cold. Not sad cold. Empty cold. Like looking into a room where no one had lived in a very long time.
He looked at me. Up and down. Slow. The same way Thalia had — measuring.
"Sit," he said.
I sat.
We ate in silence. He did not ask my name. He did not ask how I was feeling. He did not look at me again for the entire meal. I was not a person to him. I was not even interesting enough to speak to.
I was just something he had bought.
When dinner was over, he stood up and walked toward the door. He paused and turned back, and for one second I thought he was going to say something — anything — that would make me feel like a human being in this house.
Instead, he looked at me with those empty eyes and said, "Thalia will show you to your room. Stay there until morning."
He left.
I sat alone at the long table, surrounded by half-eaten food and flickering candles, and I felt something crack open inside my chest. Not sadness. Not fear.
Fury.
And the strange thing was — it did not feel like my own.
It felt older. Deeper. Like something buried inside me had just heard what happened and was now, slowly, beginning to wake up.