The house felt smaller every hour, walls pressing closer as though the rooms themselves were bending to Ethan's will. Sophie hardly slept, hardly ate; when she did close her eyes, she felt him breathing with her, steady as a second heartbeat, patient as rot.
Marcus tried to hold her together, but he was fraying too. His voice had lost its edge of certainty, his movements sharp with fear disguised as anger. He kept his hands busy—fixing broken locks, checking windows, sharpening the jagged blade—but Sophie saw it for what it was: a desperate ritual, as if steel and bolts could hold back what was already inside her.
One night, she woke to find Marcus hovering above her, his face pale in the dim light. His hand hovered over her throat.
"Marcus?" her voice cracked.
He jerked back, eyes wide. "I—I thought you stopped breathing."
Her stomach turned. "Did I?"
He didn't answer. His silence was enough.
That day, Sophie caught her reflection speaking again. Not just a smile this time—words.
You're wasting away in him. He can't save you. He can't even save himself.
She smashed the mirror with her fist, blood dripping down her knuckles. Marcus rushed to her side, trying to bandage the wound, but she pulled away.
"It was him," she whispered. "He was talking through me."
Marcus's voice broke. "Then we burn everything. The notebook, the mirrors, all of it. If he wants vessels, we starve him."
But when they tried, the notebook wouldn't catch. Flames curled around the pages, licking the edges, but the ink glowed instead of burning. Sophie swore she heard laughter in the crackling fire.
Marcus threw it into the sink, dousing it with water, but when he pulled it out, the pages were dry. The words gleamed fresh: You are mine.
Sophie collapsed to her knees, sobbing. "It's too late. He's already taken me."
Marcus knelt, grabbing her shoulders. "No. Listen to me, Sophie. He wants you to believe that. That's how he wins. If you give up, he's won."
But Sophie felt it—deep in her bones, deeper than words. Ethan wasn't waiting for her choice anymore. He was already making it for her.
That night, the possession came.
She woke with her body moving, though she hadn't told it to. Her legs swung from the bed, her feet padding across the floor, the notebook in her hands though she hadn't picked it up. Marcus stirred but didn't wake. Sophie screamed at herself to stop, but her lips didn't move.
In the mirror across the room, she saw not herself but Ethan—his grin stretched across her face, his eyes glowing with stolen light.
The voice in her head purred. Why choose when I can take?
She tried to drop the notebook, but her fingers wouldn't obey. Pages flipped until they landed on a blank sheet, and her hand began to write, letters sharp and violent: Marcus dies, Sophie lives. Sophie dies, Marcus lives. Over and over, until the paper tore.
Marcus jolted awake. "Sophie?"
Her body turned to him, but her voice wasn't hers. "She's gone."
Marcus leapt from the bed, grabbing her wrist, forcing the notebook from her hand. "No, she's not. Fight him, Sophie! Fight!"
She wanted to. God, she wanted to. But Ethan's grip was iron, her body convulsing under his hold. Her mouth opened, laughter spilling out that didn't belong to her.
Marcus slammed her against the wall, tears streaking his face. "Come back to me!"
For a split second, she saw him—really saw him—through the fog. His face broken, terrified, desperate. And something inside her cracked.
She screamed, the sound tearing through both voices, until Ethan's laugh faltered. Her body shook violently, slamming against the wall, before she collapsed into Marcus's arms.
Her voice was hers again, trembling, weak. "He's… he's trying to make me choose. But he's not waiting anymore. He's taking."
Marcus clutched her tighter. "Then we'll rip him out before he does."
But Sophie knew the truth: every time Ethan touched her, every time he moved her body like a puppet, he sank deeper. And soon, there would be nothing left to rip free.
Sophie's collapse left Marcus shaking. He carried her back to the bed, whispering her name, but her eyes were distant, darting as though she was watching something he couldn't see. She clung to his shirt with trembling fingers, whispering words that made his blood run cold.
"He's in the marrow," she gasped. "I can feel him in the marrow."
Marcus swallowed hard, fighting to stay steady. "Then we cut him out. Bone by bone, if we have to."
But she only shook her head, eyes wide with terror. "He's deeper than that. He's where my breath begins."
Marcus held her tighter, feeling the shudder in her chest, the syncopated rhythm of her lungs—one breath hers, one not. Ethan's presence was undeniable now. It was no longer whispers. It was invasion.
That night, Sophie woke screaming, thrashing against the sheets. Marcus grabbed her, trying to calm her, but her eyes glowed faintly, and when her mouth opened, Ethan's laugh poured out.
"She's almost mine," the voice said through her lips. "One more night. Maybe two."
Marcus shoved her back against the mattress, straddling her to hold her still. "You don't get her. Do you hear me? You don't get her!"
Sophie's hands clawed at his arms, nails raking skin, but she wasn't looking at him—her eyes were fixed on the ceiling, pupils wide, as though staring at something he couldn't see. Her voice broke through Ethan's for a heartbeat.
"Marcus… please… kill me before he does."
Marcus froze, horror slicing through him. "No. Don't say that. Don't you dare say that."
But Ethan laughed again, louder this time. "You'll do it. I'll make you. And when her blood's on your hands, she'll be mine forever."
Marcus roared, slamming his fist into the wall beside her head. Plaster cracked, dust falling around them. "I'll never give her to you!"
For a flicker, Sophie's voice slipped free. "Then don't let me go."
Her body went limp, eyes rolling back. Marcus shook her, panicking, until she gasped awake, sobbing into his chest.
"I'm losing myself," she whispered. "Every time he takes me, it's harder to come back."
Marcus rocked her gently, his own tears soaking into her hair. "Then I'll drag you back every time, Sophie. Every damn time. I don't care if it kills me."
But Sophie felt the truth tightening around her. Each fight left her weaker. Each scream took more from her throat. Ethan wasn't asking permission anymore—he was hollowing her out, piece by piece.
By the third night, Marcus began to see it too.
She stood by the window, still as stone, staring into the black outside. When he touched her shoulder, she turned slowly, and her smile was Ethan's.
"You shouldn't wake her," the voice said. "She needs her rest."
Marcus's blood iced. "Get out of her."
The smile widened, unnatural on Sophie's face. "Why would I? She's warmer than you ever were. Softer. Easier to mold."
Marcus raised the jagged blade, his hand trembling. "If you hurt her—"
Ethan tilted her head, eyes glittering. "Hurt her? I am her. You'd be cutting into her flesh to cut me. Can you do it, brother? Can you kill the girl you swore to save?"
Marcus's arm shook, the blade quivering inches from her skin. For a terrifying moment, Sophie didn't surface, and all he saw was Ethan wearing her face.
But then her lips trembled, and her real voice broke through, desperate. "Marcus… don't let go of me."
The blade clattered to the floor. Marcus dropped to his knees, clutching her tightly, his body shaking with silent sobs.
"I won't," he swore. "Not even if it means killing myself first."
Ethan's laughter echoed faintly through her chest, softer this time, almost satisfied.
And Sophie realized with dread that Ethan didn't fear Marcus's vow.
He was counting on it.