The manor lay quiet. Clocks ticked on the upper floor. In the fireplace the last coals glowed faintly. For a moment the small hand trembled and slipped back one mark.

  Victor walked along the corridor, his steps almost soundless. A floorboard creaked under his foot. He stopped, listening. Behind closed doors the children slept, or pretended to. He could not tell what he felt: exhaustion, unease, emptiness. His thoughts kept returning to the box and to his father, to the words he had spoken.

  Victor eased a door open. Mary sat on the edge of the bed, clutching a woollen blanket. Moonlight fell across her shoulders in a faint halo. Victor realised he had not seen her so still and thoughtful in years.

  He came closer.

  “Can’t sleep?”

  Mary shook her head.

  “I woke up. You were gone…”

  She turned slightly, studying his face.

  “What happened? I heard a noise.”

  Mary picked up the blanket that had slipped to the floor.

  “I wanted to come down, but everything went quiet again.”

  Victor sat beside her. The bed creaked, breaking the thick stillness of the room.

  “The box broke.”

  “Are the children all right?”

  “They’re in their rooms.” He looked at her with hollow eyes. “I wanted to explain something to them… before he appeared.”

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  Mary pressed the blanket tighter to her chest.

  “You always knew he didn’t disappear for no reason.”

  “I did. But when he stood in the doorway… I still wasn’t ready.”

  She looked toward the window where wind tugged at the bare branches.

  “He was waiting for something,” Victor went on.

  His father’s words still rang in his head, an echo he could not escape.

  “You think because of Andrew?”

  Victor shrugged.

  “I don’t know. You saw it too.”

  Mary lowered her head.

  “The children are caught in this. I’m certain. Even Veronica… she was drawn to the box like a magnet. We can’t pretend these are just coincidences, especially not when their grandfather returns so ‘conveniently’.”

  “I know.” Victor dropped his head, palms covering his eyes. “But how do we explain to them what we don’t fully understand ourselves?”

  “We don’t have to explain anything. Your father should.”

  He was silent for a moment, then asked:

  “Have you ever regretted staying in this family?”

  Mary turned to him, surprised.

  “You’re really asking that now?”

  “Just… everything is coming back. I’m not sure I can go through it again.”

  She reached out and touched his fingers.

  “You will. You’re different now. And you’re not alone.”

  At the other end of the house Logan stood on the balcony, his palms braced on the railing. The air was sharp, almost stinging. Breath drifted into the dark in thin plumes. Rare, uneven snowflakes caught in his hair and melted on his lashes. He did not notice. One flake landed on his palm and did not melt. Logan wanted to shake it off, and only then saw how badly his hands were trembling.

  The door creaked behind him.

  “You’ll freeze,” Heather said.

  He did not answer. He only gripped the railing tighter.

  “I saw the flash in the window,” her voice came softer.

  Logan stayed silent. He wanted to tell her about the box, about his father, about the fear that would not let go. But the words would not come.

  “Everything is too strange,” he said at last. “And I don’t know what to do with it.”

  Heather came closer, not quite daring to touch him.

  Logan looked into the dark, where the faint glow of the town showed beyond the trees.

  “I’m starting to understand,” he breathed. “Everything that happened with Andrew… I thought he was imagining it. But he felt it. And I refused to see.”

  Heather gripped his hand tighter.

  “I’m scared, darling.”

  “I won’t let this continue.”

  Logan stared into the silent dark a moment longer, then turned and went inside. Heather followed, closing the door behind them. In the bedroom it was warm, but their breathing stayed heavy.

  Morning would not save them.