The house no longer felt like a shelter. Its walls had begun to pulse with shadows, corners dripping with a darkness that had weight. Marcus could hear it even in silence—the faint hum of Ethan's presence, vibrating through the wooden beams, as though the house itself had become an extension of his prison. Or his body.
Sophie sat by the cold fireplace, her knees drawn to her chest, her hair hanging over her face. She hadn't spoken to Marcus in hours. He tried, again and again, to coax her back with gentle words, with reminders of who she was and what they had fought for. But each attempt was met with silence—or worse, with Ethan's voice curling from her lips, mocking his desperation.
When Marcus finally knelt beside her, she flinched. Not the way she used to, not from surprise—but like a cornered animal, bracing for pain.
"Don't touch me," she whispered.
His hand froze midair. "Sophie, it's me. I would never—"
"You don't know what you'd do anymore," she interrupted, her voice trembling but steady enough to wound him. "He's inside you, Marcus. I see it. Every time you look at me, part of you wonders if I'm worth saving."
Marcus felt his breath leave him. "That's not true. I've never—"
But she turned to him then, her eyes dark and haunted. "I felt it. That night, when you thought about letting me go. He showed me. And now every word you say feels poisoned."
Marcus wanted to deny it, to scream that she was wrong, that his love was untouchable—but Ethan had planted the seed, and Sophie had watered it with her fear. Now it was blooming between them, thorned and strangling.
He sat back on his heels, his voice cracking. "I don't know how to fight him anymore. Every vow I make, he twists. Every thought I try to bury, he drags into the light. Sophie… I'm failing you."
Her lips trembled, and for a moment, he thought she might soften. But then her expression hardened, tears sliding down her cheeks without breaking her glare.
"Then maybe you should leave," she whispered.
The words hit him harder than any blow. "Leave? Sophie, if I leave, he'll—"
"He'll take me either way," she said flatly. "At least if you're gone, he won't feed on your promises anymore. He won't use you against me."
Marcus felt his chest cave in. He wanted to argue, to insist that leaving would doom her—but what if she was right? What if his very presence was tightening Ethan's hold?
As he sat there, torn between love and terror, Sophie rose slowly to her feet. Her movements were jerky, unnatural, but her voice was steady.
"You swore not to let me go. But maybe letting go is the only way to save me."
Marcus reached for her hand, but she pulled it away, clutching the notebook instead.
And when she looked at him again, Ethan was smiling through her tears.
Marcus staggered back as Sophie's expression twisted, her lips trembling with grief while Ethan's smile gleamed beneath. He could almost see the two of them fighting for dominance—her sorrow against his malice—but the balance was shifting, tilting toward the darkness.
"Sophie," Marcus pleaded, his voice raw. "Fight him. Please. Don't let him use you against me."
Her knuckles whitened as she clutched the notebook. Her body shook as though every nerve was at war. "I don't… know who I am anymore," she whispered. "When he speaks, it feels like me. When he laughs, it's through my lungs. Sometimes I wonder if there's anything left of Sophie at all."
Marcus rose, desperate. "There is. You're still here—I see you every time you look at me like this. You're stronger than him. You're—"
Her hand lashed out before he could finish. The notebook struck his face with a crack, sending him sprawling to the floor. Pain burst through his jaw. He tasted blood.
When he looked up, Sophie was shaking, horror etched into her features. "Marcus—I didn't—"
But then her face froze, Ethan sliding into her voice with cruel satisfaction. "Yes, you did. And it felt good, didn't it? Finally putting your hands on him. He's your jailer as much as I am."
Marcus scrambled to his feet, heart pounding. "Don't listen to him! That's not you!"
Sophie dropped the notebook as though it burned her, clutching her head with both hands. "Get out—get out of me—" Her scream tore through the room, raw and ragged, until her voice broke entirely.
Marcus reached for her, but she shoved him back with such force he stumbled into the wall. Her strength was no longer entirely hers. Ethan was lending her power, warping her body into a weapon.
She lunged at him, nails slashing across his arm. Pain ripped through his flesh, hot blood spilling. He caught her wrists, pinning them, but she thrashed with animal fury, her eyes blazing with something not human.
"Sophie! It's me!" he shouted, fighting to hold her still.
Her lips curled into a grin that wasn't hers. "And it will be me, Marcus. Through her. With her. She'll beg me to stay when she realizes you'll only ever hurt her."
Marcus's grip faltered. That was when Sophie tore free, shoving him so hard his head cracked against the wooden beam of the wall. His vision blurred, spots exploding in his eyes.
Through the haze, he saw her stagger back, panting, her hands slick with his blood. She stared at them, trembling, tears cutting down her face.
"I… I hurt you," she whispered.
Marcus, dizzy, forced himself upright. "No. He hurt me. Not you."
But she shook her head violently, as though trying to tear the thought from her skull. "How do I know anymore? How do I know where he ends and I begin?"
The notebook lay at her feet, pages fluttering though there was no wind. The words had changed again, written in jagged strokes: You are me. I am you. There is no line.
Sophie screamed, stamping on it, ripping pages, tearing at it with frantic hands. But the more she destroyed, the more it bled ink, thick black rivulets running over her skin like veins.
Marcus stumbled toward her, grabbing her arms. "Stop! You'll only give him more!"
She collapsed against him, sobbing. "Then what do I do? Tell me, Marcus, what do I do?!"
He held her tightly, despite the sting of his wounds. "You don't give up. That's all we can do. We fight until he's forced to crawl back to the pit he came from."
But deep inside, Marcus felt the weight of the truth. Sophie had struck him. Not once, but twice. And though she wept for it, Ethan had planted another fracture, one more crack in the fragile bond between them.
That night, as Sophie finally slept, Marcus sat awake with the blade in his lap, blood drying on his arm. The shadows around him whispered, curling like smoke.
"You can't protect her from me," Ethan murmured in his ear, though Sophie's lips did not move. "You can't protect her from herself. And when she turns on you again—and she will—will you be ready to kill her before she kills you?"
Marcus closed his eyes, gripping the blade until his hand shook.
He didn't answer.
Because for the first time, he wasn't sure.