The night pressed heavy against the house. Wind howled through the broken windows, carrying with it the scent of damp earth and blood. Sophie sat with Marcus's head in her lap, her fingers combing through his damp hair. His breaths were shallow but steady, a fragile rhythm that reminded her he was still here, still fighting.
But she knew it wouldn't last.
Ethan hadn't been banished. He had only retreated, curled deep inside Marcus like a parasite biding its time. And every second that passed, Sophie felt the weight of him there—the unnatural stillness in Marcus's chest, the occasional twitch of his fingers, the faint pulse of black that flickered behind his eyelids when he stirred.
"You're still in there," she whispered, brushing her thumb along Marcus's cheek. "And I'll drag you back, even if I have to crawl through hell to do it."
Her words trembled, not with doubt but with fury. She had seen what Ethan could do—twisting her memories, her fears, turning Marcus into a mouthpiece for her shame. If she wanted to free him, she couldn't just fight Ethan with knives or rope. She would have to fight herself.
The thought chilled her.
But when Marcus stirred, murmuring her name with his real voice, soft and broken, she knew there was no choice.
She didn't sleep. Couldn't. Instead, she searched the house for anything—clues, remnants, weapons. The walls groaned as she pried open old drawers, rifled through boxes of rotting paper, stared at mirrors that warped her reflection into things she didn't recognize.
It was in the cellar that she found it.
An old trunk, wedged behind a collapsed beam. Inside, beneath mold-stained blankets and cracked photo frames, she uncovered journals. Dozens of them, their pages swollen with damp, their ink smudged but legible.
Her heart pounded as she flipped one open.
The handwriting was jagged, frantic. I hear him when I sleep. I see him when I wake. He whispers that he loves me, that he will make me whole. But every night he takes more. I am not myself anymore. I am the echo of something else.
Sophie's throat tightened. This wasn't new. Ethan had been feeding on souls long before Marcus, long before her. He had been here, whispering into fragile hearts, taking what he wanted until nothing remained.
She turned the page. He feeds on wounds. The deeper they are, the sweeter they taste. The only way to starve him is to seal them, to face them. But who can bear that? Who can survive standing naked before their own ruin?
The words blurred in her vision. She closed the journal, clutching it to her chest as her heart raced.
She understood now. Ethan wasn't just inside Marcus. He was inside her too, crawling through every scar she carried, every memory she tried to bury. To fight him, she would have to open them.
And it terrified her.
When she returned upstairs, Marcus stirred more violently, his body twitching against the floorboards. His voice cracked into a half-scream, half-growl.
"No—get out—get out of me—"
Sophie dropped to her knees, gripping his shoulders. "Marcus! Listen to me, it's me!"
His eyes shot open, one brown, one black. Ethan's laugh echoed through the room, reverberating off the walls. He's mine, Sophie. Do you want to save him? Then strip yourself bare. Show me every wound you've hidden. Let me taste it all.
Sophie's skin prickled with ice. "You feed on pain," she whispered.
Yes, Ethan purred. And yours is exquisite. Do you think Marcus would still love you if he saw it all? The scars you carved, the nights you begged to be unseen, the moments you prayed you wouldn't wake? Let me show him, Sophie. Let me peel you open for him.
Her breath caught, tears stinging her eyes. For a moment, she faltered. Because he was right—she had buried things so deep she prayed Marcus would never know them.
But then Marcus groaned, his brown eye locking on hers for a fleeting second. "Don't… let him win…"
It was enough.
Sophie wiped her tears, her hands shaking but firm. "Fine. You want to see it? Then you'll see it on my terms. I'll walk through every shadow, every scar, and I'll drag him back with me."
The room trembled, shadows pulsing violently. Ethan's hiss vibrated through the air, sharp and furious. So be it. Let the mirror crack. Let the world see what you are.
And before Sophie could move, darkness swallowed her whole.
The darkness was absolute, thick as tar. Sophie's lungs seized, her body cold, weightless, as if she'd been dropped into a void with no end. Her voice echoed when she spoke, thin and fragile:
"Marcus?"
Silence answered.
Then a light bloomed—a harsh, sterile glow that stabbed her eyes. When she blinked, she stood in her childhood bedroom. The faded wallpaper, the cracked dresser, the posters she had torn from magazines—everything exactly as it had been.
Her heart lurched. She hadn't been here in years.
The air was heavy, suffocating. And then she saw herself.
A younger Sophie, sitting on the edge of the bed. Shoulders hunched. Eyes hollow. A razor blade glinting in her trembling hand.
Sophie's knees buckled. "No… please, not this…"
The younger version didn't look up. She dragged the blade across her skin with mechanical precision, as though punishing herself for simply existing. The blood that welled up dripped to the floor, staining the carpet with crimson shadows.
Sophie staggered forward. "Stop! You don't have to do this—you don't!"
Finally, the younger Sophie's eyes lifted. They were dark pits, filled with Ethan's shadow. Her lips curled into a smile.
This is you, Sophie. Not the brave girl you pretend to be. Not the savior you want him to believe in. This is the rot beneath your skin.
Sophie shook her head violently, tears streaming down her face. "I'm not her anymore!"
The younger version tilted her head. "Aren't you? Every time you wake in the night, sweating, clutching at your chest, don't you think of me? Don't you remember how easy it would be to let go? How sweet it felt to carve silence into your veins?"
The blade lifted again. Sophie screamed, rushing forward—but when she tried to grab the razor, her hands passed through like smoke.
Ethan's laughter filled the room. You can't save yourself. You never could. That's why you clung to him. That's why you'll destroy him too.
Sophie collapsed to her knees, clutching her head. The walls pulsed, bleeding black, the posters warping into grotesque faces that jeered at her. "You're nothing. You're weak. You'll break him just like you broke yourself."
Her chest heaved, panic clawing her lungs. She wanted to run, to claw her way out, but then she heard it—Marcus's voice, faint, muffled, like it was buried beneath miles of earth.
"Sophie… don't let go."
Her tears slowed. Her breath steadied. She wiped her face and stood, glaring at her younger self.
"You're right. I was broken. I wanted to disappear. But I didn't."
The younger version sneered, blade poised against her wrist.
"I survived," Sophie said, her voice shaking but fierce. "And I'll keep surviving. Not for you. Not for Ethan. For me. And for him."
The blade froze. The younger Sophie's eyes flickered—darkness faltering for a heartbeat.
Sophie pressed on, her voice rising. "You don't define me anymore. I do. I choose to love, I choose to fight, and I choose to stay alive. That's my power. Not my scars."
The younger version let out a shriek, her form convulsing, cracking like shattered glass. Blood poured from her arms, soaking the floor, but then it all dissolved into smoke. The razor clattered to the ground and vanished.
The room collapsed.
Sophie fell, tumbling through endless dark. She landed hard on cold stone. When she looked up, she was in the pit again. Marcus was chained to the wall, his chest rising with tortured breaths, black veins crawling up his neck.
His eyes opened. One brown. One black.
"Sophie…" His voice was both his own and Ethan's.
She rushed to him, grabbing his face between her hands. "I found you. I'm not leaving without you."
His body convulsed, Ethan's laughter tearing from his throat. You think you won? You think facing your scars makes you strong? You only fed me, Sophie. Every wound you uncovered is mine now. And through him, I will wear them like armor.
Sophie leaned closer, her forehead pressed to Marcus's. Her voice was a whisper, fierce and unyielding. "You can't feed on what I no longer fear. You can't starve me with shame I've already faced. You're losing, Ethan. I felt it. You're slipping."
Marcus gasped, his brown eye widening, pushing against the black. His fingers twitched, straining toward hers.
And in that moment, Sophie knew. Ethan could twist, taunt, manipulate—but he couldn't love. And that was his weakness.
She kissed Marcus's forehead, her tears mixing with his sweat. "I love you. And I'll love you until there's nothing left of me. He can't touch that."
Ethan roared, the chains rattling violently. The pit shook, walls crumbling, shadows tearing apart.
Marcus cried out, his body jerking as if being ripped in two. Sophie held on, refusing to let go, whispering his name again and again until the blackness receded, until his brown eyes stared back at her, wet with pain but alive.
The pit exploded into light.
Sophie jolted awake on the floor of the house, Marcus limp in her arms. But when he opened his eyes, there was no black. Only brown.
She sobbed with relief, clutching him tight. His voice was hoarse, barely a breath: "You… saved me."
She pressed her face into his shoulder, whispering fiercely, "No. We saved each other."
But deep inside, she knew this wasn't the end. Ethan wasn't gone. Not yet. He would come back, hungrier than ever.
And she would be ready.