Chapter Thirty-Four
ELODIE
“Careful.” The familiar deep voice purred, and I whirled around, facing Preston. “We meet again,” he said with a boyish grin, letting go of my arm like it had burned him.
I blew out a short breath, not wanting to reveal how relieved I was that it was him. “We really need to stop meeting like this,” I muttered, taking a small step back and scanning the corridor.
It was just us, but I was sure I heard laughter before. It was high-pitched and clear. It had to belong to a child.
“By this,” he said, tilting his head slightly, “you mean, you trying to attack me?” He rolled up the sleeve of his sweater with slow, deliberate movements, like he had all the time in the world.
That’s when I realized he was still fully dressed.
It was late, he should’ve been in pyjamas by now, unless he’d only just come back from somewhere. ..
Taking a better look at him, I realised he looked like someone who hadn’t seen a bed in days.
His blonde hair was even messier than usual, sticking out at wild angles as if a bird had tried to build a nest in it then thought better of doing so.
His eyes were just a little too bright, his skin too pale.
And yet, somehow, he still looked unfairly beautiful.
Ethereal, almost. Like a fallen angel exiled on Earth for his sins.
I also just realised that the last time I saw him was the night he told me his parents had been murdered.
“I mean you, sneaking up on me,” I said, my voice sharper than I intended.
He raised an eyebrow; amused or offended, I couldn’t tell. But either way, I wasn’t going to apologize for protecting myself. Not to him. Not to anyone.
He plucked the candle from my hand like it belonged to him, and lifted it higher. The flame flickered, the shadows painting a blood-curdling mask across his face.
“It’s hard not to sneak up on someone sneaking around in the middle of the night, isn’t it? What are you doing here anyway?” He glanced around, and I used the opportunity to snatch the candle back from him.
“I could ask the same from you, couldn’t I?”
Now he looked clearly entertained, his eyes glinting with a wild sort of amusement. “I was following a ghost.” He said it so simply, so offhandedly, I couldn’t tell if he was joking or not.
Still, I stiffened, my heartbeat picking up. “Ghosts aren’t real.” I said, rolling my eyes to emphasise my words.
He leaned in, his voice dropping to a mock whisper. “Liar, liar, pants on fire.”
The air thinned. Did he know about my mum? Or the woman haunting the corridors, always leaving behind that faint trace of lavender? Had he told Lilian? Was this some twisted game before they locked me away?
“Don’t call me a liar, Davenport.” I stepped past him, the candlelight shivering with every breath. “I’m going back to bed.”
“By all means,” he said breezily. “But make sure you don’t get lost. There are parts of this manor you don’t want to encounter.”
I froze, glancing down the unfamiliar hallway. It felt as though the manor had rearranged itself just to spite me. I would probably get lost. But I wasn’t about to admit that. “I can handle it,” I said, stepping forward, my pulse climbing into my throat.
No footsteps sounded behind me—just the suffocating silence wrapping around me like a wet blanket. Preston didn’t follow—
“Well then.”
I sucked in a sharp breath, as he suddenly appeared beside me, out of thin air.
“I’m headed the same way. We can get lost together.”
He didn’t wait. He moved ahead, passing windows and unlit candles, clearly knowing the way and expecting me to follow. He should have known me better. And yet, after a moment of staring at his back, I did what a month ago I wouldn’t have.
I followed him.
We walked in silence. The candle between us flickered with each step, throwing long shadows that danced along the cracked wallpaper.
The manor groaned and whispered like it had secrets too old for words, but Preston didn’t seem bothered.
He walked like he owned the night. Like it would never dare touch him.
“Is this something you do often?” he asked after a while, and I frowned, meeting his dark green gaze. It reminded me of shadowed moss.
“Do what?” I asked, picking on the edge of my sleeve, my mind back in the attic. It was left between the rotten box and moth eaten papers… and secrets too old to read.
“Tiptoe through haunted corridors—barefoot.” He glanced down pointedly, and I followed his gaze, heat blooming across my chest.
“I was in a hurry,” I muttered.
The candle fluttered as if exhaling for me.
“To follow a ghost.” He finished the sentence like he truly knew, except I could sense a question beneath his words.
So he wasn’t sure. He was just mocking me before.
We turned a corner, and a gust of cold air slipped through a cracked panel.
It caught my hair, lifting it off my shoulders.
I reached up to tuck it back, but Preston was faster.
He brushed my hair aside, gently, like he’d done it hundreds of times before.
There was a brief, hesitant tenderness in the movement that made something tight pull behind my ribs.
His hand didn’t fall away immediately. His fingers hovered, barely grazing the edge of my jaw.
Everything stilled.
Then, he drew back, dropping his hand like it hadn’t lingered at all.
Like nothing happened.
I took a breath, slow and quiet, filling my lungs with cold air as I looked up to meet his eyes.
“What do you know about ghosts anyway?” I asked, but instead of answering he just—stared.
Like he was trying to read me. Not my face, but what lay beneath.
The parts I kept locked away, tucked behind steel walls.
I could feel my skin heat again, and I hated it.
For a second, it looked like he might say something.
His lips parted, his gaze softening just enough to cast him in an unfamiliar light.
Like there was a Preston beneath the surface I hadn’t met yet.
But then he looked away, a muscle feathering in his jaw, like he was caught in some silent war with himself.
“No more than any other bloke,” he said, his voice flat, suddenly uninterested, as he moved on, down the corridor.
I hesitated for a heartbeat before following. Just as I caught up, he halted again, resting his hand on a doorknob I hadn’t noticed until now. A tall panel of glass, glowing faintly in the candlelight.
The panes looked like they were made of fairy wings—veined and delicate, washed in colours reminiscent of dusk, and that shimmered with age.
His fingers twitched, hesitant, like he couldn’t decide what he wanted, but then, he pushed it open, and a cold breeze swept through, carrying the scent of rain and frost.
Beyond it lay a silent balcony and the endless night.
“I roam the halls when I can’t sleep,” he said, breaking the quiet as he stepped out into the hugging arms of winter.
“And almost always, I end up on this balcony.” He leaned forward, resting his arms on the balustrade, his gaze fixed on the night sky.
“The manor looks different in the dark. The whole land does.”
I knew what he meant. It could be comforting, being alone in the dark. When people weren’t watching, when it was just you and the silence. The only thing I didn’t like was my thundering thoughts taking me to places I didn’t want to revisit.
Seeing him stand so close to the edge took me back to my dream. I could feel the cold kiss of rain on my shoulders like I was back there, watching him dive to his death once more. I shook, trying to get rid of the unwanted picture stuck inside my head.
My toes curled as I followed him, the stone icy beneath my feet.
If I was lucky I would catch a cold before my birthday.
The grounds were asleep, silent, the only sound coming from the occasional hoot of an owl.
I tried to see which part of the manor we were in, but couldn’t.
I didn’t see the maze, or the greenhouse, nor the ghostly whites of those haunting sculptures.
The only thing I saw was darkness consuming everything.
I stopped beside Preston and looked down, trying to see the ground. Nothing. No sight of bushes or trees, just the endless void stretching until it reached the stars in the sky. I turned around, resting my back against the stone, choosing to face the gaping hallway instead.
Silence settled between us thick and full, broken only by the rustle of leaves far below and the occasional creak of the roof above us. The cold snuck in through my sleeves, needling its way down my spine.
Preston exhaled slowly.
“I used to hate this place,” he said, and I glanced at him sideways. “Not just the house, all of it.”
His profile was unreadable, his jaw sharp, his eyes steady on the dark horizon.
“So, what changed?” I asked, sliding down until I was sitting on the cold floor of the balcony. The candlelight was warm in my hands.
He shrugged. Then, to my surprise, followed my example and settled down beside me.
“I did,” he muttered, his brow furrowing, like the answer had surprised even him. The candlelight painted soft shadows along the curve of his sweater.
I picked at the edge of the oversized white T-shirt I wore as pyjamas and tried to gather courage to say what I wanted. Preston’s breath ghosted into the night air.
“I found out something,” I said, my voice distant, like it didn’t quite belong to me. From the corner of my eye, I saw him turn his head.
“About what?”
I stared ahead, my mouth dry, the name heavy on my tongue.
“About my mum,” I said at last, the candle flickering between my hands. “And my father.”
I didn’t see Preston, nor did I want to. That would have made it much harder to say what I wanted out loud.
“Hudson Lamont.” The words came out ragged, tasting like iron.
The wind howled like it wanted to share its opinion but no one paid mind to it. I focused on the centre of the candle where the wick slowly burned into nothing.