The air was too dense.
Ellie didn't wake up right away—first there was a knot of anxiety in her gut, then the feeling that someone was sitting at her feet. Breathing. Heavy. Uneven.
Her eyes opened—no one. Just shadows, walls, and Lydia sleeping on her side by the wall. Asleep.
A few more seconds passed. Lydia got up. Not abruptly, not jerking awake—quietly, soundlessly, as if someone had nudged her shoulder. She didn't look around, didn't call out, didn't glance back. She just walked to the door. Barefoot. Her staff left behind.
Ellie sat up; her heart was beating strangely—not quickly, but with heavy thuds. Like footsteps inside herself.
– Lydia?
No answer. Lydia was already reaching for the doorknob. Her fingers were pale.
– Lydia, stop, – firmer now.
Her hand on the knob twitched, but didn't stop.
So Ellie stood up sharply and grabbed her by the wrist. Warm. Her pulse was racing.
Lydia's eyes were open, but not seeing.
– Where are you going?
Lydia whispered barely audibly.
– I... heard. Someone called me. It was me.
– That's not you.
– But the voice... my own…
Ellie gently pulled her back from the door.
Behind the door was silence. The kind that made it feel like, if the door closed, no one would ever leave.
– Look at me, – Ellie said.
– It was my voice, Ellie. It called me by name.
– I know. But it's not you.
Lydia's eyes filled with tears.
– I almost went. I really... would've gone.
Ellie held her hand tight until Lydia's breathing calmed. Then they both sat by the wall. Far from the door.
Morning never truly comes in the manor. There's just a little less darkness.
Dusty light seeped through the cracks in the boards, like the glow of a dead lamp. The room smelled of silence, as if even the mice were hiding.
Lydia sat at the wall. Straight. Still. Hands on her knees. Looking not at anyone, but at a spot on the wall that didn't exist.
She didn't flinch. She didn't cry. She just... didn't blink.
Ellie moved closer.
– How are you?
– I'm fine, – Lydia answered instantly. Too quickly. Too quietly.
– Did you sleep?
– Yes. I think so. I don't remember. But... yes. I slept.
Ellie sat across from her. Slowly. Said nothing.
After a couple minutes, Lydia spoke on her own.
– He called me again, Ellie. Not a whisper this time. He spoke as if I already knew what he would say. He... sounded like me. Only calmer. More certain. I... – She clenched her fists. – I'm scared that if he speaks again, I'll... give in.
Sala entered the room. Silent. She looked at Lydia once, carefully. Then at Ellie.
They understood each other without words.
– Give me your hand, – Sala said.
Lydia offered it.
Sala touched her wrist like a priestess, like a mother, like someone who could feel not just a pulse but another's shadow beneath the skin. Lydia trembled.
– He's close to her, – Sala said quietly, looking into nothing. – Not inside. But right at the edge. He's... weaving in. Like a root. No pain. But tight.
Ellie silently drew a dagger and laid it across her knees. Not for threat—for herself. For readiness.
– I tried, – Lydia whispered. – I really tried.
– You are trying, – Sala said. – You didn't go. You're here. You're strong, Lydia, keep it up, alright?
And in that silence, where every second stretched like a drop on a knife's tip, the three of them sat. But one of them was already on the border.
They were left two. Sala took responsibility for Henn, saying she'd return as soon as she could.
Ellie sat by the door, dagger in her lap. Lydia lay wrapped in a cloak, trying to breathe steadily. She didn't cry. Didn't complain. Only now and then she would flinch, as if she heard a call through the silence.
Ellie wrote in her journal, without looking:
"I speak to her as if I'm holding a door. He presses. I know this feeling. Just not on myself. It's worse now, which means he's close."
– Ellie? – Lydia's voice, a little hoarse.
– Yeah.
– If I... if you see I'm not me...
– I'll know it's you. As long as I can hear you, you're here.
No answer. Just a quiet breath.
An hour passed. Or two. Or twenty minutes. Then, suddenly, a creak at the entrance. That same one. Not loud. Not frightening. But wrong.
Ellie stood up, gripping her daggers tighter. Lydia also sat up, pale, eyes wide.
– Who's there..?
Footsteps. Two people. And in the doorway appeared Sala. Alive. Pale. Her gaze heavy.
Next to her—Henn.
He walked calmly. But something in his movements was... off. Back too straight. Steps too even.
He didn't look at anyone.
– I found him at the stairs. Just standing there, – Sala said.
– Henn?.. – Ellie asked cautiously.
He nodded. Silent. As always.
Lydia cried out.
– That's not him!
Henn raised his head. His face was expressionless.
Sala frowned.
– He hasn't said a word. Not before, not after.
– Where's your axe? – Ellie asked.
Henn looked down. His hands were empty.
– Lost it, – he replied. Voice flat. Colorless.
– You never let it go, – Sala said.
– Things happen, – quietly.
Silence. Lydia shrank into the corner. Ellie stepped forward, shielding her.
– Henn, – Sala said slowly. – Where were you?
He looked her straight in the eyes.
– Behind the door.
– Sit down, – Sala said calmly.
Henn sat. Obedient. Wordless.
Ellie watched him intently. He sat as always: upright, steady, hands on his knees. Sala nodded shortly. Her eyes were alert. Not to his face—to his movements.
– What was in the pot the first night?
He looked her way.
– Mushrooms.
– No. Mushrooms were the second night.
He blinked. Once. Then smiled. Slowly. Wrongly.
– You're observant, – he said.
The voice was the same. But the intonation was foreign. Words stretched, as if he was remembering how to be human. Ellie stepped back. Sala already had an amulet in her hand.
Ellie didn't speak immediately. Just watched. Observed.
– What do you think? – Sala asked, not loudly, as if checking if he even heard.
– Silent, as usual, – Ellie said. – But...
Henn sat. Back straight. Posture perfect. Too perfect.
People don't sit like that—unless they're trying very hard to look like themselves.
– Say something, – Ellie threw.
He turned his head.
– What?
– Just... say. About yesterday. What did you eat?
– Flatbread.
– Everyone had porridge, – Lydia said calmly.
– I ate flatbread.
– It had garlic. You said you don't eat garlic.
– I ate.
Silence. Ellie moved closer.
She took a piece of dried food and slowly held it out to him.
– Take it. Eat.
He looked at her.
– I'm not hungry.
– Eat. – Sala's voice was firm.
He took it. Brought it to his lips. Paused. And...
– The Moroi can't eat, – Sala whispered. – He can't process food.
– Yes, – Ellie said. – But he tries.
Henn stared at the food like it was alien. Then opened his fingers. The food fell. He didn't blink. Didn't explain.
And then it became clear: something inside him was just imitating behavior.
They set simple markers around him—not a circle, not a trap, just signs.
Sala took out a tiny bell, and Lydia lit a weak candle, herbs in the flame to cleanse the air. She was shaking, but she held on.
– Silence, – Sala whispered. – The Moroi feeds on sounds. But doesn't like pure ones. Lydia, let's do this!
Lydia, standing by the wall, began the first prayer. Her voice trembled but didn't break. Ellie kept her weapons ready, standing to the side. Guard. Witness.
Sala closed her eyes and echoed Lydia, lower, deeper, a different rhythm, like singing from beneath the bones.
The bell rang. The light barely pulsed. Henn sat in the center. Too calm. But his breathing... became uneven.
He blinked. For the first time.
– It's working, – Lydia whispered. – He's moving.
– Don't lose focus, – Sala said firmly, not opening her eyes.
Henn blinked again. Then jerked his shoulder. Then bent over. Ellie tensed.
– Is he... coming back?
The shadow beneath him changed. Didn't expand. Didn't swell. It became denser.
Sala raised her voice. The bell now shook in her hand. Lydia lifted the candle higher, the light sliced across the man's face. He hissed but didn't scream. His face flickered, as if it couldn't decide which shape to take.
Everyone was focused on him. No one noticed as Sala wavered.
No one but Ellie. Too late.
– Sala?
She turned and saw the woman standing with a blank stare, swaying slightly. Hand with the bell still in the air. Lips parted.
– Sala? Lydia!
Lydia opened her eyes, looked, and screamed.
The bell fell from her hand, clattering to the floor. Sala collapsed, soundless. Like a sack. No scream. No resistance. Just a vanishing from within. Lydia froze. Then screamed.
– SALA! – Lydia screamed in a way that you don't even scream in battle. It wasn't a call for help; it was the sound of a heart breaking.
Ellie rushed over. Checked the pulse. Pupils. Nothing. The body was warm. The cheek smooth. Eyes half-open.
But a tear... was still sliding down.
Lydia crumpled beside her.
– She... she just...
She hugged her.
– Get up. Do you hear me? Please, get up...
She rocked her, whispered in her ear. Lips brushed hair. Palms smoothed her brow.
– I didn't... I didn't say... I didn't have time to say...
Ellie came closer.
– Lydia. We need to...
– NO!
– We have to go. Now.
– I'M NOT GOING!
– She can't hear you anymore.
– I CAN'T LEAVE HER! – Lydia choked, eyes closed. – She... she...
She broke off. And just wept. Soundlessly. Broken. – NO! You have to look at me! You can't TAKE HER!
The candlelight shot up. The Moroi in Henn's body turned toward her. And... smiled. Not with lips. Inside. Joyful. As if he'd gotten a gift.
Ellie looked up.
– Lydia. Calm down. He...
– NO! He was waiting! WAITING! For us to look at him while he ate her in the shadows!
– He loves rage, – Ellie whispered. – You're feeding him a feast.
Lydia shook. Tears streaming. Her staff trembled in her hands.
The Moroi tilted its head. Henn's body still sat. Face calm. But something inside was winking.
Ellie did what she had to.
She took Lydia's hand and dragged her to the exit. She didn't shout. Just held on. Didn't let go. Lydia resisted, but her feet moved. She didn't fight. She just didn't want to.
– Sorry, – Ellie whispered. – Sorry. If I could have stayed...
And they burst out of the room. Sala stayed. Silent. Like the period at the end of a chapter no one wanted to finish.