Echoes of the Heart

Chapter 6: The Outsider

Chapter 6: The Outsider

Callum’s Point of View

The road to Everdawn House had never felt longer. Even in the darkness, I could see its silhouette against the night sky, a towering specter from my past. The place had always carried a weight, a presence that never quite let you go. I should have known that leaving had only been temporary.

Now, he was gone, and she had returned.

I tightened my grip on the straps of my bag as I moved through the overgrown path, my footsteps silent against the damp earth. I had promised myself I wouldn’t come back. Promised that this house and its ghosts were behind me.

But Emma’s arrival had changed everything.

She didn’t belong here. Not yet.

If she found out too much, she’d never leave.

The tall iron gates loomed ahead, rusted but still formidable. My hand hesitated over the latch. The last time I had been on this side of the gate, I had walked away without looking back. I had thought I was free. But some places never let you go, and Everdawn House had its claws in me deeper than I cared to admit.

With a quiet exhale, I pushed the gate open just enough to slip through. It groaned under its own weight, a sound that carried through the quiet night like a warning.

Too late for that now.

The mansion was dark, save for a dim flicker of light from the east wing. Emma was awake. That complicated things.

I moved through the shadows, avoiding the main entrance. There were still ways into the house that most had forgotten—passages once used by the servants, back when this estate had been alive with people. I had spent enough time here to know them well.

Near the western side, ivy had nearly swallowed a narrow side door. It was locked, but locks didn’t mean much when you knew their weaknesses. A few seconds, a well-placed nudge, and the door groaned open.

Inside, the air was thick with dust and time. The scent of aged wood, faded books, and something more elusive—something that had always made Everdawn House feel like it was watching.

I moved quickly through the narrow corridor, my steps light on the worn floorboards. The servants’ quarters had been abandoned for years, their doors left shut, memories trapped inside. The fewer people who had access to this part of the house, the better.

The west wing had always been different. It held things the rest of the house didn’t.

I passed through a hall lined with paintings—portraits of long-dead Harrington ancestors. Their faces were frozen in time, expressions unreadable, except for their eyes. The eyes always seemed to follow you, no matter where you stood.

I didn’t look at them.

The study was exactly as I had left it. Dust gathered in the corners, the curtains drawn, the furniture draped in neglect. But the desk—that heavy, ornate thing that had once belonged to him—was still full of papers. I knew what I was looking for.

Records. Notes. Proof.

My fingers brushed across the worn edges of a leather-bound journal. I had seen him write in it a thousand times, his handwriting sharp and precise.

He never wanted her to see this.

And yet, she was here now, walking the halls he had tried to keep her from.

I opened the book, scanning the pages quickly. Some were filled with nothing more than business transactions, estate records—things no one would think twice about. But beneath that… the real story was buried.

I turned another page and froze.

The ink was darker here, the words scrawled with a heavier hand.

"If she ever finds out, it will destroy her. She cannot know. I won’t let her share this fate."

A chill crept up my spine.

I barely had time to process the words before I heard it—footsteps.

Light. Careful. Hers.

I tensed, pushing the book back into place and stepping into the shadows just as the door creaked open.

Emma.

She looked different now—older, sharper. Gone was the carefree girl I had once known. This Emma had questions, and I could already see that she wouldn’t stop until she had answers.

Her gaze swept across the room, pausing briefly on the desk before settling on me.

“Who are you?” Her voice was steady, but I caught the flicker of uncertainty behind her eyes.

For a moment, I considered lying. Saying I was a stranger, just another trespasser in this house of secrets. But something told me that wouldn’t work.

Instead, I studied her, watching the way she squared her shoulders, how she refused to step back. She didn’t remember me.

That made this easier.

“I could ask you the same thing,” I said finally.

She frowned. “This is my home.”

“Is it?” I tilted my head slightly. “You sure about that?”

Anger flared in her expression. “Who are you?” she demanded again.

I exhaled. “Callum.”

The name meant nothing to her. Good.

She narrowed her eyes. “Callum what?”

“Just Callum.”

She took a step closer, her gaze flicking between me and the desk. “You were looking for something.”

I didn’t answer.

“Something my father left behind,” she pressed.

I let out a short, humorless chuckle. “Your father left behind a lot of things. Most of them he never wanted you to find.”

She stiffened, but I saw the flicker of hesitation. “How do you know my father?”

I hesitated. Not because I didn’t have an answer, but because I knew she wasn’t ready for it. Not yet.

“Let’s just say… he and I had an arrangement.”

Emma’s brow furrowed. “What kind of arrangement?”

I shrugged. “The kind that ended the day he died.”

Silence stretched between us. I could see the questions forming in her mind, the frustration building in her posture. She wasn’t going to let this go.

“You shouldn’t be here,” I told her.

Emma crossed her arms. “And yet, here I am. Same as you.”

I smirked. “Difference is, I know what I’m walking into.”

Her expression darkened. “And what exactly am I walking into?”

I watched her for a moment before replying.

“The past.”

She exhaled sharply, shaking her head. “I don’t believe in ghosts, Callum.”

I chuckled. “You will.”

Another silence. Another unspoken challenge hanging in the air between us.

Finally, I turned toward the door. “If you’re smart, you’ll walk away now.”

Emma didn’t move.

“I’m not leaving,” she said, her voice steady.

I sighed. “Didn’t think you would.”

She was more like him than she realized.

And that was the problem.

With one last glance at the desk, I slipped past her and into the hallway.

I had found what I needed.

And soon, she would start finding things too.

Whether she was ready for them or not.