CHAPTER 16
The spell isn’t fire this time.
It’s silence.
Everything stops—wind, sound, breath.
Jack watches me like he finally understands.
“You were the door,” he says.
I nod. “And I’m closing it.”
The voices rage. Threaten. Promise.
I don’t answer.
The ground seals. The pressure snaps.
The house exhales.
Jack collapses.
I catch him.
Heartbeat.
Real. Steady.
Morning breaks over Greyville’s ruins.
Later, weeks later, life keeps going. Messy. Uneven.
Jack keeps his head down now. Power avoided, not taken.
We don’t talk about what almost happened.
But sometimes, when the air goes still, he squeezes my hand.
And I know the truth that reframes everything:
The house never chose him.
It chose me.
And it lost.
