Ink and ashes
392 Words
Chapter 7 – Ink and Ashes
The house was quiet by morning, but it was the kind of quiet that carried weight—like the pause before thunder. Sunlight broke weakly through the curtains, casting pale stripes across the dusty floorboards.
Elena hadn’t slept. She sat at the desk in her grandmother’s study, the journal spread open before her. Its pages smelled of ink and old paper, tinged with lavender that had long since faded.
The entries seemed to blur together until one caught her eye.
“I hear them at night. Scratching. Whispers. I fear the house is listening. Adrian comes often, offering his help, but I cannot tell if he is salvation or shadow. His eyes are kind, but kind eyes have deceived me before.”
Elena’s pulse quickened. Her grandmother had known him. Trusted him enough to write about him—but never fully.
She pressed her hand to the page, trying to feel closer to the woman who had once guided her every step. “What were you afraid of, Grandmother?” she whispered.
The sound of the front door opening downstairs made her jump. She snapped the journal shut, heart racing. Footsteps followed, slow and deliberate.
“Good morning, Elena.”
Adrian’s voice. Calm, steady, as if the events of last night had never happened.
She met him at the bottom of the stairs. He carried a paper bag, the scent of fresh bread drifting from it. “You didn’t eat yesterday,” he said simply, setting it on the table. “I thought I’d bring breakfast.”
Elena crossed her arms. “Do you always break into people’s houses, or is it just mine?”
A faint smirk tugged at his lips. “You left the door unlocked.”
She hated the way her pulse jumped at his nearness, the way that smirk softened when his eyes caught hers. “Why are you really here, Adrian?”
He grew serious, the smirk fading. “Because you’re in danger. Because this house is dangerous.” His voice lowered. “And because your grandmother asked me to keep you safe.”
Elena studied him, searching his face for cracks. “She wrote about you,” she said finally.
Something flickered across his expression—surprise, maybe even pain. “Then you know she didn’t trust me completely.”
- Writer
