The air shifted.
It was subtle at first, like a sigh pressed against the back of her neck. But then she felt it—a low hum, as though the walls themselves had lungs. The silence cracked. The world around her pulsed once, then again, each beat aligning with her racing heart.
Aria's breath caught. She wasn't alone.
The corridor stretched endlessly, its shadows bending in ways that made no sense. She took one step forward and the floor groaned beneath her, wood shivering like it had memory. Every sound echoed too loud, too alive, as if the house itself was listening.
And then she saw it.
At the far end of the hallway, a door stood slightly open, its iron frame slick with damp. A faint light leaked through the crack—not warm, not inviting, but sharp, silver, like moonlight forced through a blade.
Her bones ached with recognition. This was the place her dreams had dragged her toward, the place Pari had drawn without ever explaining.
The boy in the iron room.
Aria's fingers brushed the sketchbook she still carried. She could almost hear Pari's voice whispering through time: "The one the sea refused to claim."
A shiver ran through her. The door called to her—not with words, but with a pull older than her fear.
She swallowed hard, her throat dry. And then, as if the world had been waiting, the door creaked wider.
And something inside… breathed back.
***
Aria didn't remember falling asleep, yet she woke up on the cold wooden floor. The attic's air felt thicker than before—like the walls had been breathing while she rested. The faint glow from the box had dimmed, but it wasn't gone. It pulsed softly, like a heartbeat muffled beneath the floorboards.
She turned toward the window. The fog outside had deepened into something alive. Shadows pressed against the glass as though they were watching her. She reached out, fingertips trembling—until she saw it.
A handprint.
Small.
Pressed from the outside.
Her pulse spiked. She stumbled backward, knocking over an old mirror that cracked down the center. Her reflection split in two—one side terrified, the other smiling faintly, almost knowingly.
From the darkness below, something stirred.
The sound wasn't footsteps this time—it was whispering. Dozens of voices speaking in perfect unison:
> "It's awake."
Aria froze. The glow from the box flickered again—brighter, now pulsing in time with her heart. Something inside was answering them.
And then, for the first time, the box moved.