Chapter Thirteen: The Book of the Hollow

Elena could hear her own heartbeat.

Mr. Holloway's warning hung in the air, heavy and suffocating.

"Before he remembers."

The old man's eyes darted between her and Leon, his breath coming in quick, uneven bursts. The book in his hands trembled.

Leon remained still. Too still.

Elena swallowed. "What… what do you mean?"

Mr. Holloway ignored her. His knuckles tightened around the book's brittle cover as he took an unsteady step closer. Toward her.

Not toward Leon.

"Elena," he whispered, his voice hoarse. "You don't know what you're standing next to."

Her stomach twisted. "What?"

Leon's eyes darkened. "Enough."

His voice was quiet. Calm.

But something about it sent a chill racing down her spine.

Mr. Holloway flinched.

His grip on the book tightened—like a man clutching a lifeline. Like he thought Leon might take it from him.

Elena stepped between them. "Mr. Holloway, you need to tell me what's going on."

The old man exhaled shakily, his gaze never leaving Leon. Then—finally—he looked at her.

And handed her the book.

Elena hesitated, her fingers brushing the aged leather. It was cold. Too cold. The cover was cracked, worn from time, but the faded lettering was still visible.

THE BOOK OF THE HOLLOW.

Her pulse quickened.

"What is this?" she asked.

"The town's history," Mr. Holloway murmured. His eyes gleamed in the dim lantern light. "The truth."

Elena turned the book over in her hands. It was thick, its pages lined with brittle parchment. There were symbols etched into the spine—symbols she didn't recognize.

She glanced at Leon.

He hadn't moved.

But his eyes were locked on the book. Unblinking.

Mr. Holloway's voice dropped lower. "You need to read it, Elena."

She frowned. "Why?"

The old man exhaled. Then—carefully—he lifted a shaking hand and pointed to Leon.

"Because if you don't," he whispered, "you won't know what he is."

A shiver crawled down Elena's spine.

She turned to Leon. Waiting.

For him to scoff. To shake his head. To dismiss it as nonsense.

But he didn't.

Instead, he smiled.

A slow, knowing smile.

And that was far, far worse.