CHAPTER 1
The floorboard snaps under my heel and the candle almost slips out of my hand.
“Don’t drop it,” the voice says.
It’s not loud. It’s not echoey. It’s right behind my ear, like someone leaning in to tell a secret they shouldn’t know.
I spin. Nothing. Just the hallway—narrow, dark, peeling wallpaper clawed open like it’s been worried at for decades. The flame shakes, throws shadows that don’t match the furniture.
“I didn’t say move,” the voice adds.
My heart is punching my ribs hard enough to bruise. I swallow and keep still.
“Good,” it says. “You listen.”
The door at the end of the hall slams shut.
I didn’t touch it.
The candle flickers once, twice, then steadies. Smoke curls toward the ceiling, thick and wrong, like it has weight.
“Say hello,” the voice says.
My throat feels glued shut. “Hello,” I manage.
The smoke twists.
A face forms.
Not vague. Not blurry.
Clear enough to wreck me.
Dark hair falling into his eyes. Sharp jaw. Mouth tilted like he’s already amused by me. He looks about my age. Maybe older. Definitely too real to be happening inside smoke.
“Jessica,” he says.
My knees give out. I grab the wall, fingers digging into splintered wood.
“You’re not supposed to know my name.”
He smiles like that’s his favorite thing about this.
“I know everything that happens in this house,” he says. “And you just woke me up.”
The candle flame gutters.
Behind me, somewhere downstairs, something crashes.
And the smoke-boy—no, the man—reaches out of the air like he can touch me.
“Don’t scream,” he says softly. “If you scream, they’ll hear.”
