CHAPTER EIGHT

The dim light flickered above them as they stood in the closet, dust swirling in the air between them. Aila had just told Theo everything—about the creature, the lullaby, the strange patterns she was starting to see.

Theo leaned against a shelf, arms crossed, his eyes steady on her.

"I appreciate you finally telling me this."

Aila studied him warily. "Finally?"

He gave her a knowing look. "You've been off since the first night. It was only a matter of time before you told me what was going on." Then, his voice lowered, cautious. "But don't mention to your aunt that I can see them too."

She frowned. "Why?"

Theo hesitated, glancing at the door before looking back at her. "Because… your story is woven to make it seem like you're the only one seeing these things."

Aila scoffed, crossing her arms. "No shit, Sherlock. I'm not dumb."

A ghost of a smile flickered across his lips, but his expression remained serious. "It's not just you, Aila. The patterns… they match with me too."

Aila's breath hitched. If Theo had experienced something similar, then this wasn't just a strange family curse. This was something bigger. Something deliberate.

They were running out of time.

Aila swallowed hard. "Then we find out the truth."

They agreed to meet in the morning to go to the town library, where they'd start digging through records for any trace of what was happening to them.

As they stepped out of the closet, a familiar voice made them both freeze.

"What were you two doing in there?"

James stood in the hallway, arms folded, an amused smirk on his face.

Aila, without missing a beat, deadpanned, "Making out."

Theo choked. "We were not—"

James chuckled, shaking his head.

Aila smirked, patting Theo's shoulder before slipping past him. She didn't need to turn around to know he was probably glaring at her.

The library smelled of aged paper and dust, the air thick with silence except for the occasional rustle of pages and the scratching of pen on paper. Aila sat hunched over a stack of records, eyes scanning decades of obituaries, town news, and missing persons reports.

Beside her, Theo leaned against the table, one hand holding open an old leather-bound book. His brow furrowed. "It's not just girls," he murmured, flipping a page. "Everyone who disappeared or died in strange circumstances was twenty. Always twenty."

Aila's stomach twisted. "That means my sister… it wasn't an accident. It was a pattern."

She inhaled sharply, her fingers gripping the fragile newspaper clipping she'd been reading.

"Does that mean she was killed?" Her voice was barely above a whisper. "But by who? And those creatures—were they the cause of the madness that led people to their deaths, or were they trying to stop it?"

She knew what the hallucinations did to her. The way they gnawed at the edges of sanity, warping reality until it was impossible to tell what was real.

"I won't end up like that," she murmured, more to herself than anyone.

Theo didn't answer right away. He was watching her, his expression unreadable.

"You won't," he said finally, his voice firm.

Aila looked up, startled. He wasn't just saying it—he meant it.

The weight of exhaustion suddenly pressed down on her. The hours of reading, the tension, the fear—it was too much. Her body sagged slightly, and before she knew it, she had drifted off.

Theo had been flipping through another book, but the sound of her steady breathing made him pause. His gaze lifted.

Aila was slumped over, head resting on the crook of her arm. The dim library light softened her features, her lips slightly parted, her eyelashes dark against her cheeks.

Theo exhaled slowly, his fingers tightening around the book's spine.

For a moment, he forgot about the curse, the mansion, and everything else. He just watched her, the slow rise and fall of her shoulders.

Then, as if sensing his gaze, she stirred. Her eyes fluttered open, hazy with sleep, before locking onto his.

"You were staring," she mumbled, her voice thick with drowsiness.

Theo smirked. "No, you were sleeping in a public place. It's weird."

Aila groaned, sitting up and stretching. Then, as if on cue, her stomach let out a loud growl.

Theo laughed under his breath. "Guess it's time to eat."

As she stood, ready to leave, she brushed past an old cabinet. A sharp sting made her wince—something had caught onto her dress.

"What the—" She looked down. A rusty screw had torn through the fabric near her thigh, leaving a small but stinging scratch. A trickle of blood welled at the edge.

Theo frowned. "You're bleeding."

"It's nothing—"

He was already moving. "Sit."

Aila rolled her eyes but obeyed, sitting back down as Theo disappeared for a moment. When he returned, he had a small first-aid kit from the librarian's desk. He crouched beside her, tilting his head as he examined the wound.

"It's small, but it might get infected," he muttered.

Aila expected him to just hand her a bandage, but instead, he carefully cleaned the cut himself. His touch was surprisingly gentle, fingers brushing against her skin as he wiped away the blood. She swallowed, suddenly hyper-aware of how close he was.

Theo was quiet as he smoothed the bandage over her skin. His hands were warm.

She stared at him, at the way his brows furrowed in concentration, the sharp angles of his jawline, the way his hair fell slightly over his forehead.

He looked up then, catching her gaze.

For a moment, neither of them spoke.

"Done," he said finally, voice lower than usual.

Aila cleared her throat and stood abruptly. "Let's get out of here."

As they made their way through the town, they passed a small carnival that had set up near the town square. The scent of fried food and popcorn filled the air, the flashing lights casting eerie shadows on the pavement.

"A carnival?" Aila mused. "Had no idea one was in town."

Theo tilted his head toward a small booth. "Look at that."

A woman sat inside, her face hidden under layers of scarves, her fingers shuffling a deck of worn tarot cards.

"Free readings," Aila read aloud.

Something about the woman's presence unsettled her.

The woman's gaze snapped to them.

"Come," she said, her voice like the rustling of old pages.

Aila hesitated. Theo, beside her, didn't move either.

The woman pointed directly at her. "You, girl. I see shadows around you."

Aila swallowed.

The woman gestured to the chair across from her. "Sit."

Aila slowly stepped forward. Theo stood behind her, arms crossed.

The woman flipped over a card. Then another.

She stilled.

Her fingers trembled slightly as she touched the last card.

"You walk among the dead," she whispered. "But you… you were meant to be one of them."

Aila felt a chill creep up her spine.

Then, the woman's eyes snapped to Theo.

Her lips parted slightly, as if in realization.

"You were the one who was supposed to be the moonflower."

The words sent a cold shock through Aila's body.

Theo's jaw clenched. His fists tightened at his sides.

The woman exhaled sharply and abruptly gathered her cards. "Go," she muttered. "I've seen enough."

Theo grabbed Aila's wrist, pulling her away from the booth with a little too much urgency. Neither of them spoke as they weaved through the crowd, the festive lights and laughter feeling distant—unreal.

When they finally stopped at the edge of the carnival, Aila turned to him. "Theo… what did she mean?"

His grip on her wrist loosened, but he didn't let go.

"I—" He hesitated, his brows drawing together. His usual sharp confidence wavered, replaced by something quieter. Thoughtful. "I don't know."

Aila studied him. He wasn't shaken, not exactly. But he was thinking, piecing things together, trying to make sense of something that didn't quite fit.

For once, Theo didn't have an immediate answer.

And that unsettled her more than anything.