Sophie's breath caught in her throat. The notebook trembled in her hands as she stared at the words, stark against the page: You are mine.
Her pen was still tucked behind her ear. She hadn't written it. Marcus hadn't touched the notebook. Yet there it was, ink fresh, letters jagged as if scratched into the paper by something that despised her.
Her stomach lurched. She slammed the book shut, clutching it to her chest as though she could suffocate the words. But even with the pages closed, she swore she could still feel them burning against her skin.
Marcus stirred beside her, his voice hoarse. "What is it?"
"Nothing," Sophie said too quickly.
Marcus frowned, trying to pull himself upright. His body shook with the effort, his bruises still raw. "Sophie—don't lie."
Her hands tightened on the notebook. "It's just… him. He's still here."
Marcus's face paled, but his jaw set. "Of course he is. He doesn't die. He lingers."
"But this felt different," Sophie whispered. She slowly opened the notebook again, forcing Marcus to see. His eyes widened at the words, his breath catching.
"That's not your handwriting."
"No," Sophie said. Her voice broke. "It's his."
The room seemed to shrink around them, shadows lengthening across the walls. Marcus reached out, hesitating before brushing his fingers over the page. He flinched as if burned.
"He's marking you now," Marcus said, his voice hollow. "You. Not me."
Sophie's chest tightened. "Then maybe he's moving on. Maybe that means you're free."
Marcus's laugh was sharp, bitter. "Don't fool yourself. He doesn't let go. If he's in you, he's in me too. He just wants us to think otherwise."
The weight of the words pressed down on her, and for the first time Sophie realized the truth: this wasn't about saving Marcus anymore. Ethan was spreading like rot, seeping into both of them, weaving their lives together into his design.
That night, Sophie dreamed again.
She was in her bedroom, but the walls were warped, breathing like lungs. The notebook lay open on her desk, its pages flipping on their own. Every page bore the same line, over and over, until the ink bled black across the paper: You are mine. You are mine. You are mine.
Her reflection in the mirror across the room blinked—then smiled, though she hadn't.
Ethan's voice slid out of the glass. "I told you, Sophie. A package deal."
She woke with a scream, Marcus clutching her, his eyes wide with fear. "What did he show you?"
Sophie shook her head, tears streaming down her cheeks. "He's not just haunting me. He's… claiming me."
Marcus pulled her into his chest, whispering, "No. No, I won't let him."
But his voice shook. And Sophie could feel his heart racing—not with strength, but with terror.
Sophie couldn't stop shaking even as Marcus held her, even as the dawn light crept weakly through the cracked blinds. The world outside seemed unchanged—quiet houses, sleeping streets—but inside, everything had shifted. The notebook lay on the desk across the room, closed but not silenced. She could feel it pulsing, like a heart that wasn't hers.
Marcus finally loosened his grip and looked at her with hollow eyes. "He's changing tactics. He's realized I'm not enough to keep you here. So now he wants you."
Sophie shuddered. "Then what happens to you?"
Marcus's jaw clenched. "He won't let me go. He'll take both of us down, one way or another. But Sophie—" His voice cracked. "He's stronger now, isn't he?"
She couldn't lie. She nodded once, barely moving her head.
That day stretched on like a wound. Sophie couldn't concentrate on anything; every sound seemed amplified, every shadow darker. When she passed a mirror, she avoided looking into it, terrified her reflection might smile back again.
Marcus hovered close, but she saw the exhaustion in him, the way his body sagged against the wall when he thought she wasn't looking. He hadn't healed from the last confrontation, and yet he still carried the weight of her safety like armor.
By evening, Sophie made a choice she hated.
"I need to talk to him," she said.
Marcus stared at her as though she'd grown a second face. "Are you insane?"
"He's not going to stop. Not with you. Not with me. He wants something—and I need to know what it is before he rips it out of us."
Marcus's hand gripped her arm, hard enough to hurt. "That's what he wants, Sophie. He wants you to open the door. To invite him in."
Her voice shook. "Maybe that's the only way I can shut it again."
Marcus's face twisted with rage and fear. He let go of her arm, turning away. "If you talk to him, he'll never leave. You'll be his."
Sophie's throat tightened, but she forced the words out anyway. "Maybe I already am."
The silence after was unbearable.
That night, Sophie sat alone with the notebook. Marcus had retreated to the other side of the room, head in his hands, refusing to watch. She opened the cover slowly, her fingers trembling. The words were still there: You are mine.
"Then speak to me," Sophie whispered.
For a moment, nothing. Then the ink bled across the page, letters forming as though carved by invisible claws.
Finally.
Her breath hitched. "What do you want?"
The page shifted again. To be seen. To be more than an echo.
Sophie's grip tightened. "You're not real. You're Marcus's shadow. That's all."
The reply came swift, furious. I am what's left when the light fails. I am the truth he hides from you. And you— the letters smeared, then sharpened into a single phrase, —you were always meant to be mine.
Tears burned Sophie's eyes, but she refused to look away. "If you want me, then leave Marcus. Let him go."
The words appeared slowly this time, deliberate, cruel. He is the tether. Without him, I unravel. Without me, he breaks. Choose, Sophie. Him or yourself.
Her chest clenched. She slammed the notebook shut, gasping for air. Marcus was already there, gripping her shoulders. "What did he say?"
Sophie shook her head, sobs breaking free. "He wants me to choose."
Marcus froze. His face went pale, his hands trembling where they held her. "Choose what?"
"Between us," Sophie whispered. "Between saving you… or saving myself."
Marcus's eyes darkened, haunted. He pulled her into his arms, holding her like she might disappear. "Then you don't choose. You fight. We fight. Together."
But Sophie's heart was breaking, because she wasn't sure that was possible anymore.
As the night deepened, Sophie felt something stir in the corners of the room—like Ethan had been invited in, just as Marcus had warned. The air pressed heavier, her skin prickling with cold.
And when she dared glance at the notebook again, the cover was moving—rising and falling like a chest drawing breath.