The attic breathed with them. Every exhale they took was echoed in the walls, every heartbeat mirrored in the trembling beams. The names pulsed, hundreds of them, as if the letters themselves were alive, veins that fed the house. Sophie's eyes darted across them—some etched in neat, almost reverent script, others gouged into the wood with violent strokes.
But hers… hers was different.
Fresh. Bleeding.
She could smell the iron tang of it, see how the crimson drip spread across the floorboards, trailing toward the shadows that writhed like worms. Her name wasn't just written. It was claimed.
Marcus stood close, his breath shallow, his hand hovering near hers but not touching, as though afraid she would dissolve if he laid a finger on her. His eyes burned, not with fear, but with fury.
"He's binding you," Marcus said, voice rough. "Every scar you carry, every secret you never told… he's feeding them into the wood. That's why he's strong enough to hold on."
Sophie swallowed hard, her throat raw. "If I destroy it…"
He nodded grimly. "You weaken him."
"And if I destroy it," she whispered, "I might weaken myself too."
Marcus turned to her fully, his hands gripping her shoulders with desperate force. "You are not the name he carved. You are more than the pain he stole. If you cut it out, you cut him out—not you."
She wanted to believe him. God, she wanted to. But Ethan's voice slithered around her, curling into her ears like smoke.
Marcus doesn't understand. He wasn't there when you broke. He didn't hear the lies you told yourself at night, the way you begged to disappear. I did. I was the one who listened. I am the one who keeps those pieces safe.
Her stomach twisted violently. Because there was truth there—ugly truth. Ethan had been in her head, rooting through her deepest wounds. And sometimes, when she was weakest, his voice had felt like the only one that understood.
Marcus leaned closer, eyes blazing. "Don't listen to him. He's not keeping you safe—he's caging you. He's nothing without your suffering. And you're more than that."
The words pierced her, sharp and raw. But doubt still coiled in her gut like a living thing.
She turned back to the wall, staring at her name. The letters seemed to bulge outward, wet and glistening. With each throb, pain stabbed her chest, as though her ribs themselves were being carved open.
Marcus pressed something into her hand. Cold, heavy. A knife.
Her eyes snapped to his.
"I'll do it with you," he said firmly. "If you fall, I fall too. We end this together."
Sophie's breath hitched. She wanted to argue, to beg him not to risk himself, but the look on his face silenced her. He had already made his choice.
They stepped forward.
The moment Sophie lifted the knife, the house screamed. The sound wasn't human—it was the shriek of steel against stone, of bones grinding together. The rafters rattled, dust pouring down like ash. Shadows whipped across the walls, clawing, grasping.
Ethan's voice thundered. If you cut it, she dies. Do you want her blood on your hands, Marcus? Haven't you already failed enough people?
Marcus's face tightened, his jaw rigid, but he didn't waver. "Not this time."
Sophie raised the blade. Her hands shook violently, tears burning her eyes. Every nerve screamed against it, every instinct begged her to stop. It felt like she was about to stab herself in the heart.
Then Marcus covered her hand with his, steady and strong. Together, they drove the knife into the first letter.
The wood split with a sound like tearing flesh. Black tar sprayed outward, hissing as it hit the floor. Sophie screamed—not just from the sight, but from the pain that ripped through her chest, a searing fire that dropped her to her knees.
Marcus held her, his arm locking around her waist. "Stay with me. Sophie—stay with me!"
Her vision blurred. The attic spun. She could feel Ethan clawing at her insides, ripping at every wound he'd ever feasted on.
See how she breaks, Marcus? She was mine long before you. She'll always be mine.
"Shut up!" Marcus roared, driving the knife deeper into the wood. His knuckles went white, veins standing out in his arms as he carved through the next letter. More tar exploded, spraying them both. The shadows shrieked and lunged, slamming against Marcus's back like fists, but he didn't falter.
Sophie gasped, clawing at the boards, desperate for air. Every cut tore something out of her—memories, grief, rage. Her body shook as if she were unraveling.
But through it all, Marcus's voice was there, fierce and unrelenting. "You are not his. You are not his. You are mine, Sophie. You're yours. You're alive."
The knife reached the last letter. Sophie screamed, her vision going white. For one moment, she thought she was gone—that Ethan had finally pulled her under.
But then, silence.
The bleeding letters collapsed inward, the grooves sealing over like scars. Her name vanished from the wall.
Ethan roared, the sound shaking the attic to its bones. No—no! You can't cut me out! You can't—
But his voice cracked, weakened. The shadows faltered, losing form. The house shuddered violently, dust and plaster raining down.
Marcus dragged Sophie back from the wall, his chest heaving, his arms locked tight around her. She could barely breathe, every muscle in her body trembling. But for the first time, the air felt lighter.
He cupped her face, his eyes wide with fear and relief. "Sophie? Can you hear me?"
She blinked, dazed, but managed a whisper. "I'm here."
Marcus let out a choked laugh, pulling her against his chest. His tears were hot against her hair. "You did it. You're still here."
But even as his arms closed around her, Sophie's eyes flicked back to the wall.
Her name was gone. But hundreds of others still glistened.
And Ethan's shadow, though smaller, still writhed in the corners.
The battle wasn't over. Not yet.