Brad, my little brother, shouldn’t be alive. He shouldn’t be standing in my cabin, breathing my air, looking at me with those same sharp eyes he had when we were kids, only darker now, hollowed out, wrong.
He shouldn’t be here because I killed him. And because after I killed him, they cremated him. I made sure of it. So how the hell is he standing in front of me?
He steps closer, boots silent on the warped floorboards. The candlelight flickers across his face, carving shadows into features I used to know. “You’re staring,” he says, voice low, amused. “Still trying to figure it out?”
My jaw tightens. “You’re dead.”
He smiles. “I was.” The Hallow stirs in the walls, humming like it recognizes him. Like it’s greeting an old friend. A chill crawls up my spine.
“What are you?” I demand.
B
