The clock on the mantel ticked past 3:17 a.m. Clara sat curled on the couch, her legs tucked under her, eyes locked on the darkened hallway that led to Eli's room. The lamp beside her flickered once, then steadied. The silence pressed in heavy, broken only by the steady tap of tree branches against the windows. It had been nearly an hour since Eli vanished.
One minute he'd been pacing in the kitchen, ranting about the Lexicon of Binding, saying it was whispering to him in voices only he could hear. The next, he was gone—no door opened, no floor creaked, no word of goodbye. Just… silence.
Clara had torn through the house, calling his name, checking closets, the cellar, even outside in the bitter wind. Nothing. Not a trace. Not even footprints in the frost.
She gripped the mug of lukewarm tea with trembling fingers. Her mind ran through every possibility: sleepwalking? Possession? A lapse in time? The barrier around the well had held since the ritual—she'd reinforced it just days ago. But something had been changing. She'd seen the signs: Eli's sudden migraines, the way he stared at corners of the room like they held secrets, the way he said her name like he was trying to remember it.
The worst part was, she hadn't said anything. She'd told herself it was stress. Guilt. Trauma. After all, they had seen things no one should. But now…
The trapdoor in the pantry creaked.
Clara shot upright, heart hammering, the mug slipping from her hands and shattering on the floor. She grabbed the flashlight from the side table and moved quickly, carefully, toward the kitchen.
The pantry door was ajar. The trapdoor's edges glistened with condensation, as if the well's breath was rising up through the floorboards. She crouched, bracing herself, and pulled the trap open.
Nothing but darkness.
She clicked on the flashlight and shined it down. The wooden ladder was intact. The walls still lined with protective runes and salt circles. But at the base—just at the edge of the light—lay Eli's coat.
Clara's breath caught in her throat.
"Eli?" she called, voice shaking.
A soft reply echoed up—not from the well, but from behind her.
"Clara…"
She turned so fast the flashlight beam spun wildly across the walls. Eli stood in the kitchen doorway, barefoot, soaked to the bone, eyes wide with something between confusion and fear.
"Where were you?" she asked, moving toward him.
"I don't know," he whispered. "I—I was in the woods. But not the woods. There was water. Everywhere. And a voice kept saying my name."
Clara wrapped a towel around his shoulders and guided him to the couch. His hands were freezing.
"It wasn't the well," he continued, staring at nothing. "Or maybe it was. But it felt older. Deeper. Like it had always been there. Waiting."
Clara didn't speak. She just sat beside him, letting the weight of his words settle.
"I saw my mother," he added suddenly.
Clara turned. "What?"
"She was standing at the edge of the water. Crying. But when I got closer, her eyes were empty. Hollow. Like something was wearing her face."
Clara fought the chill climbing up her spine. "You said there was a voice?"
Eli nodded slowly. "It said… 'Break the bond, and be free.' Over and over. And then I woke up outside. In the field."
Clara stood and moved to the bookshelf. She pulled the Lexicon of Binding down and flipped through its pages, searching for anything that might explain what had happened. Then, in the margins of a previously blank page, new writing shimmered into view.
"The tether strains. The gate weakens. He is marked."
She looked back at Eli. He was shivering now, even beneath the blanket.
"We need to rebind you," she said. "Just like before. You're connected to it—maybe more than we realized."
"I don't think I want to be," he murmured. "But it won't let go."
Clara's hands trembled as she gathered the necessary items: bay leaves, salt, a strand of Eli's hair, the obsidian charm Abigail had left behind. She formed a circle in the center of the living room and beckoned him inside.
As she began the ritual—reciting the ancient words, burning the leaves—Eli flinched.
"It's angry," he hissed through gritted teeth. "It knows what you're doing."
The fire in the bowl flared, smoke curling upward unnaturally fast, then split into three spiraling columns before vanishing.
Clara finished the last line and pressed the obsidian to Eli's chest. The stone hissed as if dropped in boiling water.
Then silence.
Eli collapsed to the floor.
"Eli!" she cried, catching him.
His breathing was shallow. But he was alive.
The obsidian stone had split clean in two.
Clara sat beside him, holding him close, her own heart barely able to steady. The Lexicon lay open on the coffee table. Its pages were still glowing faintly.
She'd thought the curse was sealed.
She was wrong.
This wasn't over. It had only just begun.
Outside, the wind began to howl for the first time in weeks.
And far below the floorboards, deep in the stone throat of the well, something laughed.