CHAPTER FIVE

Aila felt the weight of exhaustion pressing against her skull. The past few days had unraveled into a blur of sleepless nights and anxious pacing. She knew what she had seen that night—Theo had seen it too. But now he was gone.

She searched for him relentlessly, but no one seemed to know where he was. When she asked Alex, he only shrugged.

"I don't know, maybe he left? Why does it matter?"

That answer didn't sit right with her. Theo wouldn't just leave.

And yet, the mansion remained the same, as if nothing had happened. Aunt Liz continued her usual routines, pouring tea in the afternoons, chatting with guests, all while Aila felt herself unraveling.

The strange man in the gardens kept appearing. At first, she thought it was her mind playing tricks, but no—he was real. Watching. Waiting. The first time she spotted him, he stood in the courtyard, staring up at her window. The next day, he was by the greenhouse. Then outside the library. Always distant, but always there.

Aila tried telling Alex, but he dismissed it with an eye-roll.

"Seriously, you need to stop reading into things so much. Maybe it's just one of the groundskeepers."

But deep down, Aila knew the truth. No one else saw him. No one else acknowledged him.

By the fourth day, she was at her wits' end. She had barely slept, barely eaten, and her nerves were fraying at the edges. The mansion was suffocating her, pressing against her like an unseen force, watching her in ways she couldn't explain.

That afternoon, she escaped to the gardens, hoping the fresh air would ground her. She had barely taken five steps down the stone pathway when—

A hand shot out from the bushes and yanked her in.

She barely had time to scream before another hand clamped over her mouth. Her heart slammed against her ribs. Her breath came in sharp gasps. The scent of dirt and sweat filled her nose, and when she finally registered the face in front of her—

Theo.

She pushed him off, chest heaving. "Where the hell have you been?!"

He didn't answer. Not immediately. His face was gaunt, his eyes hollowed with exhaustion. His clothes were rumpled, his once-neat shirt wrinkled, his knuckles scraped raw. He looked like he had been running—from what, she didn't know.

"Theo," she tried again, softer this time. "Where were you?"

Still, he ignored the question. Instead, he ran a hand through his disheveled hair and muttered, "I found something."

Aila frowned. "What?"

Theo exhaled sharply, glancing over his shoulder as if making sure they weren't being watched. Then, in a hushed voice, he said, "The mansion should've burned down decades ago."

Aila blinked. "What?"

"I spent the last few nights at the town's library, looking into this place, trying to figure out why everything here feels wrong—" his voice cracked slightly, "—and I found an old record. Decades ago, there was a massive wildfire that swept through this entire area. It burned down nearly everything in its path. But this mansion? It was completely untouched."

Aila's stomach twisted. "Maybe they just had a good fire prevention system. Sprinklers, firebreaks, something."

Theo shook his head. "No, Aila. The fire skipped it. Like something protected it."

"That's ridiculous," she scoffed, arms crossing.

"I thought so too. But I kept digging." He licked his dry lips. "And I found out that the same thing happened again. Years later, another fire—same story. It wiped out everything else, but this house? Untouched. Like it was never even there."

Aila stared at him.

"Theo, that's just a coincidence."

His jaw tightened. "You don't believe me."

"It's not that," she lied. "I just—maybe there's an explanation for it."

Theo let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head.

Aila shifted uncomfortably.

After a moment of silence, Theo ran a hand through his hair and muttered, "I've been seeing him too."

Aila stiffened.

"The man in the gardens," Theo whispered. "The creature. I thought I was going crazy. But then I saw the way you reacted that night. And I knew—" He looked at her, desperation flickering in his eyes. "I knew I wasn't alone."

Aila's pulse thundered in her ears.

Theo looked up at her then, eyes dark with something unreadable.

"Aila, we need to figure out what's going on here. Before it's too late."

Aila stared at Theo, his words still heavy in the air. We need to figure out what's going on here.

But how?

The mansion was massive, filled with countless rooms and locked doors. Where would they even start? She wasn't Sherlock Holmes. She knew she was smart, but not solving-mysteries smart.

She hesitated before voicing her doubt. "Theo… how? Where do we even begin?"

He was quiet for a moment, then exhaled. "I'll keep looking into it. I have a few ideas."

Aila nodded. She was relieved she wouldn't have to figure it out alone. Still, a question lingered at the back of her mind.

"Why do you care so much?" she asked carefully.

Theo ran a hand through his hair, looking away. "I don't know. Maybe because once you see something like that… you can't just ignore it."

Aila wasn't sure if that was the whole truth, but she let it go.

Later that evening, the entire household gathered in the grand living area. The fireplace crackled, casting a golden glow over the room. Conversations drifted easily—stories of home, family, and the small annoyances of everyday life.

Aila found herself laughing along as she shared stories about Jace, her younger brother, and his endless mischief.

Then James spoke up.

"Aila, you always talk about Jace. But you said you're the middle child… what about your older sibling?"

The warmth in her chest disappeared. The room didn't go silent, but it felt like it had.

She forced a small, stiff smile. "I don't really talk about my older sister."

James tilted his head. "Why not?"

Aila hesitated, fingers curling into her sleeve. "Her name was Sky."

James frowned slightly. "Oh… what happened to her?"

The words felt heavy on her tongue. She knew what she had to say—what she always said. The simple, cold truth.

"She passed away when I was eight."

James, still oblivious to the tension settling over the room, pressed on. "How did she die?"

Aila inhaled slowly. Just say it. It's not a secret.

"She committed suicide."

For a moment, no one spoke.

James shifted in his seat. "Why?"

Aila looked down at her hands. "I don't know," she admitted. "But I do know it happened in this house."

She hadn't realized how much weight those words carried until she said them out loud.

Across the room, Theo stiffened. His expression sharpened—like a puzzle piece had just clicked into place.

"What?" His voice was barely above a whisper.

Aila glanced at him, but he didn't look away.

"You never told me that."

His reaction made her uncomfortable, though she wasn't sure why. She didn't owe anyone an explanation.

James, still unaware of the shift in the room, asked, "How old was she?"

Aila hesitated. Then, quietly, "Nineteen."

Another pause.

Then Alex, sensing the discomfort, quickly spoke up. "What about you, Theo? What's your family like?"

Theo was still staring at Aila, but at Alex's question, he blinked, snapping out of his daze.

"They live abroad," he said shortly. Then, after a beat, "I was adopted."

His tone made it clear that was all he was willing to say.

The conversation moved on, but Aila barely heard it.

Later that night, as she made her way to her room, a firm hand caught her wrist.

She turned. Theo.

His gaze was unreadable, but there was something urgent in his grip.

"Why didn't you tell me?" he asked.

Aila sighed, already knowing what he was referring to.

"Because I don't like talking about it."

Theo searched her face. His jaw tightened.

"Your sister died in this house. And now you're seeing things—things she probably saw too."

Aila tensed.

"Don't you think that's important?"

She pulled her wrist free. "Not tonight, Theo."

She turned and walked away.

Even as she disappeared into her room, she could still feel his gaze on her back—heavy with questions neither of them were ready to answer.