Chapter 25
The engine had been running long enough that I stopped hearing it properly. It sank into the background the same way everything else had started to, like my brain just… gave up on filtering things properly, so instead of sounds coming and going, they just stayed.
We sat in the car for a long time, neither of us saying anything, and the longer we stayed like that, the louder the engine seemed to get until it felt like it was taking over everything inside me.
That’s the first thing I remember clearly.
Not the drive, not how we got there, not even deciding to go, it was just…
already happening, like I had stepped into something mid-motion and didn’t question it. The house wasn’t anything special.
You’d expect something more, wouldn’t you?
Someone like him, someone who spent his days digging into other people’s heads, pulling things out, putting things back wrong, there should have been something about the place.
Something that warned you. But there wasn’t, just a normal looking house.
Light on behind the curtains, a small garden that looked taken care of, a car in the driveway that had probably been washed recently.
It looked ordinary. That almost pissed me off more.
Zwierek shifted beside me, elbow resting against the door, fingers tapping once against the window before going still again.
“Watch the windows,” he said.
I didn’t respond, because I was already watching. There was movement behind one of the curtains. Subtle, easy to miss if you weren’t paying attention. Someone inside, of course.
“Schedule’s clean,” he continued after a moment, like he was reading something I couldn’t see. “No kids living there.” A pause and then, almost casually, “Wife’s home.”
That made me turn, fast enough that I felt it in my neck.
“What?” The word came out harder than I meant it to, and I let it stand. I left it there between us. “And what the fuck is that supposed to mean?”
He didn’t answer right away; he just looked at me, amused with that dark smirk on his lips. Like he’d already gone somewhere in his head that I hadn’t caught up to yet.
“Forget it,” I said immediately, shaking my head, already pushing back against whatever direction he was leaning toward. “She’s not part of this.”
He didn’t move, didn’t blink.
“She hasn’t done anything,” I added, my voice tightening without me meaning it to. “She doesn’t get dragged into it because of him.”
Still nothing, just that same look. That same fucking stillness.
You have felt that too, haven’t you, little Ghost?
That moment where you know someone’s about to say something you don’t want to hear, but they haven’t said it yet, so you’re just…
stuck there, waiting for it to land? Yeah.
He exhaled slowly, leaned his head back against the seat for a second before looking at me again.
And when he spoke this time, there was a bite to it.
“Right,” he muttered. “And what exactly is your plan then, hm?”
I didn’t answer. Not because I didn’t have one, but because I could already hear where he was going. He didn’t wait, of course he didn’t.
“What, you think she’s just going to stand there?
” he continued, voice low but colder now, cutting in that way he did when he wanted to push something under your skin and leave it there.
“Smile politely while we take her husband and walk out the front door?” His mouth twitched.
“Maybe offer us coffee too.” I clenched my jaw.
“Shut up.” He ignored that.
“If you’re lucky, she might even sit down with you,” he went on, tilting his head just slightly, eyes locked onto mine now.
“You can explain everything. Have a nice little conversation. Really clear things up.” That smile again, but colder this time.
“Police will love that. Saves them the trouble of a car chase.”
It hit exactly where he wanted it to. And of course it fucking did, he knew how to do that, always had.
Anger came fast and hot, easier than everything else.
“Shut. The. Fuck. Up.” I snapped, turning fully toward him now, the space in the car suddenly too small.
“You don’t get to talk to me like that.”
He didn’t flinch, didn’t even blink, and that pissed me off more.
Because there was no reaction, no pushback, nothing to fight.
Just that steady, knowing look like he’d already won something I hadn’t realized we were playing for.
My hands tightened where they rested, I could feel my pulse in my fingers, in my jaw, everywhere.
“Just…” I exhaled, dragging a hand down my face before forcing myself to look back at the house instead of him. “Just shut the fuck up for a second.” Silence, heavy and waiting. “I’ll handle her.”
The words came out lower, but there was something under it, something final. He didn’t answer right away. He just let it hang between us, let me sit there with it. Then he shifted beside me, drew in a breath.
“Yeah?” Soft, almost thoughtful, not mocking this time.
“Yeah,” I confirmed, even if I wasn’t entirely sure where that certainty came from. “I’ll take care of it.” Another pause, longer this time. And then, a small hum of acknowledgment.
“Alright.” Just that, nothing more. But I could feel it. The way he settled back. The way the tension in the air shifted and redirected. Like something had just been decided, like a line had been crossed. You’re watching me differently now, little Ghost. I can feel it.
The way you’re trying to figure out: He wouldn’t do that, would he?
You’re already answering it in your head, aren’t you?
I can see it on you, the hesitation. The way you want to say no, like I’m better than that, you’re not sure, but you want to be. But you’re still here, still listening, still letting me talk you through it. So don’t lie to me, little Ghost. Not now.
We didn’t speak when we got out of the car.
There wasn’t anything left to say anyway.
The air outside was cold against my skin, the kind that slowly works its way into your body no matter how hard you try to ignore it.
For a second, I just stood there with my hand on the door, looking at the house like it might look back if I stared long enough.
It didn’t, just windows, curtains, and light.
Zwierek moved first; he always did when things reached that point.
He didn’t hesitate or stop to think. He just moved, already heading around the side of the house like he’d done it before, like he knew exactly where to go without having to figure it out.
I followed, I don’t remember deciding to, my body just went.
Boots hitting the ground softer than they used to, gravel crunching just enough to make me aware of it, not enough to give us away.
The garden smelled faintly of damp soil and something sweet, flowers maybe, I don’t fucking know, and it didn’t belong there.
Not with what we were doing. Not with what we were about to do.
It made everything feel wrong, or maybe more right…
I couldn’t tell. The back of the house was darker.
Less light, less… life. A small door, plain, nothing special about it either.
No alarm system that I could see, no extra locks, just something meant to keep normal people out.
We weren’t normal people, though.
Zwierek dropped his hand briefly to his bag, fingers brushing against the zipper like a habit, like reassurance, and then he stepped aside just enough for me to move in.
No words; we didn’t need them. I tested the handle first. Locked, of course.
I adjusted my grip. Every movement was intentional in a way I hadn’t felt in a long time, like everything in me had finally narrowed down into something focused and usable instead of scattered and useless.
The lock gave quicker than I expected. A soft click, barely anything, but it sounded louder than the engine had earlier.
We froze, both of us, just for a second. Listening.
Nothing.
Just the faint, distant hum of a television somewhere deeper inside the house.
I pushed the door open slowly, careful not to let it creak.
The hinges complained anyway, just a little, just enough to make my jaw tighten, but it wasn’t enough to draw attention.
We slipped inside. The kitchen smelled warm, used.
There was something on the counter, food maybe, half prepared or half forgotten, I didn’t look closely enough to tell.
The television was clearer now. Muffled voices, laughter.
Something light, something stupid. The kind of noise people let fill their homes when they don’t expect anything to interrupt it.
Zwierek glanced at me, just a flick of his eyes, then down the hallway, then back.
A question without asking it. I answered without speaking.
A small tilt of my head toward the door off to the side.
The one that didn’t seem to belong in a kitchen unless you knew what it led to. He followed my gaze, and for a second, that smile touched his mouth again.
We moved, and the floor didn’t betray us, thank fuck. My hand found the handle before I realized I’d reached for it. I tightened my grip, held it there like I needed that anchor before everything shifted again. Then I turned it.
The door opened easy and quiet, like it wanted to.
Like it had been waiting. Stairs dropping down into the darkness below.
Cooler air rising up, brushing against my face in a way that felt colder than the rest of the house.
We stepped inside. Closed the door behind us, slow and careful, until the kitchen and everything in it was cut off.
The steps creaked less than I expected. Still enough to make me aware of every inch of my weight, every shift, every breath that felt too loud in my own chest.
Halfway down, I could already smell it.
That basement smell.