Ink and ashes 2
297 Words
Chapter 8 - Ink And Ashes
Something flickered across his expression—surprise, maybe even pain. “Then you know she didn’t trust me completely.”
“She didn’t distrust you completely, either,” Elena countered. “She was afraid of… something. Of this house. Of what’s inside.”
Adrian’s gaze shifted toward the ceiling, toward the hallway where the locked door waited. His jaw tightened. “She wasn’t wrong.”
The air thickened. Elena’s chest tightened. “Then tell me,” she demanded. “What’s behind that door?”
He hesitated too long. His silence was answer enough.
Frustration surged through her. “You keep warning me, but you never explain. How am I supposed to trust you if you treat me like a child?”
His storm-gray eyes snapped back to hers, fierce and burning. “Because if I told you everything, Elena, you’d run straight toward it. And that’s the one thing I can’t let happen.”
Her breath caught, the force of his intensity leaving her unsteady. The silence between them grew charged, humming with something dangerous, something unspoken.
Finally, Adrian exhaled and stepped back. His voice was softer now, almost vulnerable. “Please. Just trust me a little longer.”
Before she could respond, the old grandfather clock in the hall chimed noon. The sound echoed through the house, deep and resonant, and as it faded, Elena swore she heard something else beneath it—a whisper, faint, coming from the hidden door upstairs.
Adrian must have heard it too. His head tilted slightly, his shoulders tense. He muttered under his breath, almost too quiet to hear: “It’s starting again.”
Elena’s skin prickled with dread. Whatever her grandmother had feared, it hadn’t died with her.
And now, it was waking.
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