The corpse hit the marble floor with a wet crack that silenced the ballroom. For one heartbeat, Jacob stood frozen, watching the blood pool beneath Lord Blackwood's body in a slow, deliberate circle. Then the screaming began.
Not from the guests.
From the walls.
The sound started as a low hum, vibrating through the floorboards and up Jacob's spine. The masked nobles didn't scatter in panic - they turned as one, their porcelain faces tilting toward the balcony where the murderer had stood moments before. Jacob's breath caught in his throat. The killer had vanished, leaving behind only the lingering scent of burnt feathers.
The woman in the cracked mask - Eleanor - grabbed his arm with surprising strength. "They're not real," she hissed. "None of them are. Look closer."
Jacob blinked sweat from his eyes. As he focused, the illusion wavered. The noblewoman to his left had flies crawling from her sleeves. The young lord laughing by the champagne fountain had no shadow. And the wine...
Gods, the wine in their goblets moved on its own, thick as syrup, tendrils curling like fingers against the crystal.
Above them, the chandelier trembled. Not from any breeze - from the weight of hundreds of crows suddenly crowding the rafters, their inky feathers swallowing the candlelight. One detached itself from the murder and landed on Jacob's shoulder. Its claws pricked through his cloak like sewing needles drawing blood.
When it spoke, it used Emily's voice.
"Run, Jakey." The childhood nickname sent ice through his veins. "He's coming."
The ballroom doors slammed shut. The quartet in the corner played on, their instruments now producing a discordant wail as their fingers bled onto the strings. The nearest noble turned toward Jacob, lifting hands that dripped with something black and viscous.
Eleanor's nails dug into his wrist. "The servants' passage," she breathed. "Now."
They ran as the first chandelier candle guttered out. Then the second. Then the third, each extinguishing with a whisper that sounded like Jacob's name. Behind them, the music rose to a shriek, and the crows took flight in a storm of beating wings and falling feathers.
Jacob didn't look back. But he heard it - the wet, tearing sound of masks splitting open, and the hungry moans that followed.