The first time Marcus truly woke, Sophie nearly collapsed from relief. He stirred slowly, his eyelids fluttering as though they weighed a thousand pounds. When his brown eyes opened, unclouded by black, she wept.
"You're here," she whispered, pressing her forehead to his. "You're really here."
His lips cracked into the faintest smile. "I don't know how long… I held on because of you."
Her heart twisted. She wanted to tell him it was enough, that he never had to fight again, but she couldn't. Because even as she held him, she felt it: the hum beneath the floorboards, the way the walls exhaled like lungs, the restless shadows in the corners. Ethan wasn't gone. He was everywhere.
Marcus winced, pressing a hand to his chest. "He's quieter, but I still feel him. Like splinters under my skin."
Sophie tightened her grip on his hand. "Then we'll pull them out, one by one, until there's nothing left of him."
He gave a weak laugh. "You make it sound so easy."
"It won't be," she admitted, her voice raw. "But we've come too far to stop now."
They spent the following hours searching the house together, their bodies aching but their resolve hardening. Every hallway groaned as they walked. Every door resisted their touch, as though the house itself knew what they wanted.
It was Marcus who noticed it first: the walls.
"They're breathing," he whispered, his hand pressed to the faded wallpaper. Beneath his palm, the plaster swelled and contracted in slow, rhythmic pulses.
Sophie touched the wall too, bile rising in her throat. It was warm. Alive.
The journals she had found came back to her—frantic words about Ethan feeding on wounds, binding himself to the structure. The house wasn't just haunted. It was him.
Marcus's face paled. "If he's in the walls… then burning the house might be the only way."
Sophie's breath hitched. "If we destroy it, what happens to you?"
He hesitated. His silence was an answer she didn't want to hear.
She shook her head, fury breaking through her fear. "No. There has to be another way. We'll find it."
That night, they camped in what had once been the living room. The air was cold, damp, the fire they tried to build sputtering against the house's damp breath. Sophie sat close to Marcus, her fingers entwined with his, afraid that if she let go, Ethan would reclaim him.
Marcus stared into the embers. "He showed me things," he murmured. "While I was inside. My worst memories, twisted, over and over. And when I tried to push back, he used yours."
Sophie stiffened. "Mine?"
Marcus nodded, his eyes heavy with guilt. "Your pain. Your scars. He… he wanted me to hate you for them. But I couldn't. I never could."
Her throat tightened. She wanted to tell him everything, to confess the shadows she had already faced in Ethan's mirror, but the words stuck. She feared that if she spoke them aloud, Ethan would twist them again.
Instead, she leaned against Marcus, whispering, "Then we keep fighting. We keep choosing each other. That's how we starve him."
But deep inside, she feared it wasn't enough.
They awoke to the sound of the house groaning like a wounded animal. Sophie jolted upright, heart racing, as the floorboards writhed beneath them.
Marcus grabbed her arm, pulling her back as the wood split open, black liquid bubbling up like tar. The stench was suffocating, rotting flesh and burnt iron.
From the pit of the floor, a voice rose. Ethan's voice.
You think love is enough? You think your fragile vows can burn me out? This house is my heart. This wood, my ribs. Tear it down, and you tear him down with it. Do you want to test which of you survives?
Sophie's nails dug into Marcus's hand. She shouted into the dark, her voice shaking but strong. "If this house is your heart, then we'll cut it out. Every rotten piece of it."
The shadows convulsed violently, the tar spraying higher, coating the walls. Ethan's roar shook the beams above.
Marcus's grip tightened. His voice was hoarse but resolute. "Then we burn it. We burn everything."
The decision hung between them like smoke. Burn the house—and maybe burn Marcus with it. Or leave it standing, let Ethan fester, until he swallowed them whole.
Sophie's chest tightened. She could still feel Marcus's pulse against her palm, faint but steady. If destroying Ethan meant destroying him too, she couldn't—wouldn't—do it.
But Marcus looked at her, his expression carved from both fear and resolve. "Sophie… if it's the only way—"
"Don't say it," she snapped, her voice breaking. "Don't you dare ask me to choose between you and him. Because I won't."
His eyes softened, guilt flickering there. "You might have to."
Before she could respond, the house stirred. The walls groaned, the ceiling sagged. And then the air split with a sound like a scream.
Images bled from the walls—shadows twisting into scenes, memories that weren't theirs. Sophie staggered back, her breath catching in her throat.
A woman, pale and gaunt, dragging herself across the floor. A man hovering over her, eyes black, whispering into her ear. Children crying in their beds as the walls shook with unseen hands. One by one, the figures collapsed, their bodies melting into the boards, their souls swallowed whole.
Marcus's hand found Sophie's, trembling. "These are the others. The ones he took."
Ethan's voice rose, thick with pride. They fed me well. Each broken promise, each scream, each desperate prayer—they all built these walls. Their bones are the beams. Their tears, the mortar. This house is not just my heart—it is theirs too. To burn it is to burn them.
Sophie's stomach twisted. "You're lying."
But Ethan only laughed. Am I? Do you want to hear them scream, Sophie? Do you want their blood on your hands too?
The shadows shifted. Now the figures looked at her—hundreds of eyes hollow with accusation. "Don't kill us," they whispered in unison. "Save us. Save us."
Sophie clutched her head, her heart pounding. "I… I can't…"
Marcus pulled her against him, his voice low but firm. "Listen to me. They're not real. They're echoes—twisted by him. If we believe them, we're his prisoners forever."
The voices rose to a shriek, filling the house with unbearable noise. Sophie squeezed her eyes shut, tears burning her cheeks. "Then what do we do?"
Marcus took a shaky breath. "We find the core. Every parasite has one. Something anchoring him here. We destroy that—and maybe we don't have to burn everything."
The suggestion was fragile, but it sparked hope in Sophie's chest. "The journals," she whispered. "They said he feeds on wounds. That the house itself is tied to suffering. If we can cut him off—starve him—"
Marcus nodded, his jaw tight. "Then we don't destroy each other. We destroy his grip."
The shadows hissed in fury, the walls convulsing. Ethan's roar split the air. You think you can starve me? You are the feast, Sophie. Every memory you hide, every wound you cradle—I will gorge myself until nothing remains of you but ash.
Sophie rose to her feet, pulling Marcus with her. Her voice shook, but she forced it louder than his. "Then choke on me."
They searched through the night, moving from room to room with only a dying lantern for light. The house fought them with every step. Doors slammed shut, floors cracked, walls bled black tar that seeped into their shoes. But Sophie pressed on, her hand never leaving Marcus's.
At last, they reached the attic.
The door was warped, swollen with damp, but Marcus kicked it until it splintered open. A rush of air hit them—damp, foul, heavy with rot.
Inside, the walls were covered in carvings. Names. Hundreds of them, etched in jagged letters that covered every surface. Some were crossed out, smeared as though clawed away. Others glistened wetly, fresh as open wounds.
Sophie stepped closer, her breath catching. She recognized one of them.
Her own.
Carved deep, blood still dripping from the grooves.
Marcus grabbed her hand before she could touch it. His face was pale, his voice ragged. "This is it. The anchor. He's binding himself to every soul he's taken. Including yours."
Ethan's laughter shook the rafters, dust raining down. Clever girl. But not clever enough. If you cut me out, you cut yourself too. Do you have the courage to carve away your own name?
Sophie's stomach dropped. She stared at the letters, her hand trembling. It was true. Her name pulsed like a vein, tethering her to the house, to Ethan.
Marcus gripped her shoulders, forcing her to look at him. His eyes were fierce, unwavering. "You don't have to do this alone. We'll do it together."
She wanted to believe him. She wanted to think their love was strong enough. But as Ethan's shadow swelled, pouring into the attic like a storm, she knew the choice was coming.
To destroy Ethan, she might have to destroy herself.
And for Marcus—for both of them—she wasn't sure she had the strength to survive it.