𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧

[ ₁₉₉₆! ]

The wind had shifted—it smelled like old firewood, pine sap, and something vaguely metallic. Maybe blood. Maybe rust. Maybe memory. Annie Jo adjusted her grip on the armful of logs, the bark digging into her forearms, and turned just in time to catch Jackie cursing at Van's busted Walkman.

"Has she always... acted like this?" Annie tilted her head, brow furrowed, and passed a log to Shauna. "I mean... she's not doing anything."

Shauna followed her gaze. Jackie was sitting cross-legged in the sun, her fingers jammed into the cassette slot like she thought she could magic the thing back to life with sheer willpower. Strings of frustration spilled from her mouth as she banged the Walkman against her knee. Across the clearing, the rest of the team was busy with actual work, glaring at the girl when they had the chance.

Taissa and Akilah were folding their only dry clothes, pinning them to a low-hanging line.

Misty was circling Molly and Travis like a persistent bee, trying to get the girl to sit so she could recheck her shoulder. Molly waved her off, clearly annoyed, but Misty wasn't budging. Travis hovered nearby, arms crossed, probably debating whether to intervene or let Misty get hit.

A few yards over, Van and Lottie knelt near Laura Lee in the grass, gathering dry twigs and laughing about something Annie couldn't hear. It almost looked normal.

And then there was Jackie.

Shauna frowned, turning back to Annie. "She's... trying."

Annie glanced at her, unconvinced. "It's just—people are starting to notice." They crossed toward the food prep area, feet sinking slightly into the soft, damp earth. Annie dropped her load of logs with a dull thud and wiped her hands on her shorts. Her nails were dirt-caked. Every cut on her fingers burned. "I'm sorry," she added, softer. "I know she's your best friend."

"No, you're right." Shauna didn't sound mad. Just tired. "She's had so much handed to her. It's not her fault. Not really. But when you've never had to do anything for yourself..."

"It's hard to even know where to start." Annie nodded, her tone softening. She wasn't trying to pick a fight. She just couldn't help noticing the shape of things—how Jackie not doing anything was beginning to affect everyone else. "I get it."

A breeze stirred the drying clothes, and someone behind them let out a quick, open laugh. For a second, it felt almost normal.

Then, out of nowhere, Shauna asked, "Do you still paint?"

Annie blinked. "What?"

"We were in art class together last year. But you also used to bring that little sketchbook to practice," Shauna said, her voice gentler now. "You were always drawing on the bus. I remember this one thing—sunflowers, I think? Or daisies. Something with flowers. It was really good."

Annie's hands stilled over the logs. Her face didn't fully shift,  breath caught in her throat. Her mouth twitched—somewhere between a smile and something sadder. "I haven't really thought about painting since we got here."

"Yeah," Shauna murmured, picking at a hangnail. "That makes sense."

There was a beat, and then Annie tilted her head, studying her. "What about you? Are you still... writing?"

Shauna gave a little half-shrug, self-conscious. "Sort of. Just journaling. Stuff I don't really say out loud."

Annie offered her a small, understanding smile—but before she could say anything more, her body tensed. She let out a low breath, one hand pressing to her side as she folded slightly at the waist.

Shauna was immediately alert. "Hey—are you okay?"

"Yeah," Annie breathed, letting out a small, crooked laugh through her exhale. "Just a cramp. I don't know how you're not curled up in pain like the rest of us."

Shauna glanced away. Her lips pressed together as she drew in a deep breath. "I'm late."

Annie straightened slowly, the humor bleeding from her face. "Oh." Her voice was soft. She looked at Shauna — really looked. The way her arms crossed over her stomach. The way she stared at the ground, like she could vanish if she tried hard enough. Annie's brows briefly furrowed as she tilted her head slightly, but she let the thought disperse. "It's probably the stress," She offered gently. "I mean... we survived a plane crash. We're half-starving. There's probably mold in the walls of the cabin. That has to mess stuff up."

Shauna looked like she might say something—her mouth parted—but she didn't. Instead, she offered Annie a grateful smile. "Yeah. You're probably right."

Across the clearing, Jackie's voice rang out again—louder this time, sharper. "Goddammit, you stupid piece of crap!"

Annie didn't have to look to know what it was about—she could practically see that the broken Walkman was beyond reparable in Jackie's hands. She rolled her eyes, turning to face the stack of logs that she and Shauna had made, reorganizing them.

Behind her was a faint shuffle of movement—a pause too long to be nothing. Out of the corner of her eye, Annie saw Shauna crouch low, fingers brushing something dark and wet in the grass.

Blood.

It wasn't much—just a small smear across the pad in Shauna's hand, quick, before she slipped it behind her back. Annie's movements froze for half a second, her fingers lingering on the edge of the log. When she turned, Shauna had straightened up like nothing had happened, turning her head to face Jackie.

"I should go talk to her," Shauna said suddenly, her voice unreadable.

Annie didn't answer at first. Her gaze stayed fixed on Shauna, narrowed slightly, like she was trying to figure out a math problem that didn't add up.

"Yeah," she said slowly, her voice even. "Okay."

Shauna gave her a look—fleeting, layered, unreadable—and then turned and walked toward Jackie without another word.

Annie watched her go for a long moment before her hands dropped to her sides. She glanced down at the patch of grass where Shauna had crouched moments earlier, the drips of blood already drying into the dirt.

She didn't say anything. But she had seen it.

Shauna had pressed it into the pad like it belonged there—like it was supposed to be there.

But it wasn't.

Annie shook her head, exhaling through her nose, the breath shaky as she turned toward the cabin. She didn't know what to do with the thought, not yet. She just knew she couldn't unthink it.

She climbed the porch steps and slipped inside, letting the door close behind her.

The air was cooler inside, still tinged with smoke and the faint sting of mildew. The light inside flickered soft and gray through warped windows. Mari was near the trapdoor in the back, using her sleeve to scrub at the wall. She looked up, startled, and gave a half-hearted wave.

Annie raised a hand automatically, but her steps slowed. Something in her chest had shifted. Her mind, still lingering outside—on the clearing, the blood-stained grass—caught up all at once.

It hit her slowly, then everything clicked into place.

Shauna bending down, smearing the blood. The look on her face just before she turned away. The flannel that she'd been wearing for days. The quiet way she said she was late. The way she had been slightly avoiding Jackie. The way her eyes flickered, unreadable, every time someone brought up their period.

Her breath caught as the pieces fell into place, sharp and sudden—like puzzle edges snapping together too fast.

She's pregnant.

Shauna was pregnant. Out in the middle of nowhere.

Annie pressed a palm to her mouth, her thoughts racing as the realization settled like a weight across her shoulders. Her legs felt too light, her head too loud. She tried to swallow, but her mouth was dry.

Her eyes darted toward the hallway. Then back to the closed door behind her. Then down.

All at once, the silence in the cabin seemed louder. Her heartbeat echoed in her ears. Her face flushed with heat. She swallowed hard, taking a small step forward—and didn't see Natalie was right there.

The collision jolted her out of her thoughts, the impact knocking Annie half a step backward. She caught herself on the doorframe, her breath catching hard in her chest. "Oh—sorry," she said quickly, blinking hard.

Natalie reached forward, placing a hand on her shoulder. "Hey," she spoke softly, eyeing Annie carefully. "You good?"

Annie forced a nod, her eyes meeting Natalie's icy blue ones. "Yeah—yeah, I just... zoned out."

The bleached blonde pursed her lips, slightly tilting her head as her eyebrows furrowed. "You sure?"

Annie opened her mouth to say something, but looked at the rifle strap digging into Natalie's shoulder instead. "You're going on another hunt?"

Natalie stared at her for a second, brows furrowing at the topic change, before nodding. "Yeah. In a few. Travis and I wanted to head out early."

Annie glanced toward the door, biting her lip. "I think I just saw him and Molly trying to hide from Misty."

Natalie laughed — a short, real sound. Her mouth opened like she was about to say more—

"Get it off! Get it off me!"

Mari shrieked from behind them, a blur of dark hair blazed past them, and out the door. Before either one of them could blink, Natalie had set the rifle against the wall and bolted. Annie followed close behind, shoes thudding against the wooden floor until they reached outside.

Mari was flailing at the bottom of the steps, hair flying, arms jerking wildly as she tried to claw at her back.

Shauna and Akilah appeared from the side, eyes wide with alarm.

"Mari? What's wrong?" Annie ducked around her, trying not to get elbowed in the face.

"I—I was under the trapdoor," Mari gasped, grasping at the fabric on her back. "And something crawled down my shirt!"

Shauna stepped closer, eyes scanning the girl with concern. "There's nothing there," she said softly, lips pressed together. "I don't see anything."

Annie froze, her gaze shifting to Shauna.

She was saying the right things. Calm, composed. The same voice she'd used earlier when she was gathering wood. When she was smiling at Jackie. When she was covering her tracks.

Annie watched her, eyes too focused. Longer than necessary. Something soft welled up in her chest. Not pity. Not even sympathy.

Care.

Heavy and immediate.

And absolutely terrifying.

Shauna must've felt it—that weight behind Annie's stare. She glanced over, and their eyes locked.

For just a second, everything stilled. Shauna's face tightened—maybe defensively, maybe afraid Annie might say something. But Annie didn't speak. She just held her gaze, her brows furrowed, her expression unreadable.

"Must have been the ghost." Taissa broke the silence, stepping forward from beside Van to tease Mari.

Mari whipped her head around, her eyes growing wide. "Don't say that,"  she snapped.

"Oh my God," Molly muttered, crossing her arms as she appeared at the edge of the group. "Are we seriously still doing this? Like let it go, Taissa."

The curly-haired girl rolled her eyes, catching a glimpse of Travis at the railing. A smirk crossed her mouth as her eyes drew back to Molly. "At least I'm not trying to f—" Taissa started, but Jackie burst into the group before she could finish.

"Okay, you guys," Jackie beamed, "I just had a brainstorm." Everyone was silent, eyebrows furrowing at the girl's excitement. Jackie shook her head when nobody said anything, still with a big smile on her face. "We should have a séance."

"That's a terrible idea," Taissa chuckled, crossing her arms. Her eyes flicked around the group before landing back on Jackie. "Also, we're not in middle school."

Annie didn't speak. Couldn't, at first.

The word itself—seance—made her stomach knot. It hit a place somewhere deep, somewhere old. She hadn't heard that word spoken seriously in years. Not outside of sermons or whispered gossip. It tugged at something buried beneath the surface—the way her mama used to talk about evil entering through cracked doors, how spirits weren't always what they seemed. Even just listening to Jackie say it felt like disobeying something sacred.

Beside her, Laura Lee moved. Quiet at first—then firm. She stepped into the space between Annie and the rest of the group and reached out, curling her hand tightly around Annie's wrist.

Annie flinched a little at the touch. It wasn't fear. It was recognition.

Laura Lee didn't say anything yet. She just stared straight ahead, her grip steady like an anchor. Like she expected Annie to say something. To stop it.

But Annie didn't know what to say. Her mouth felt dry.

Jackie kept going, undeterred by Taissa."But remember how fun that shit used to be? Besides, maybe if we can laugh about this, then it would help."

"As if you know anything about help." Molly scoffed, muttering under her breath.

Laura Lee stepped forward, her voice steady but cold. "The occult is no laughing matter."

Annie caught her eye and felt the unspoken plea. But she also saw the way Jackie's words had sparked something in the group. A tiny flicker of light. Something stupid and unserious. Something they might all need.

She looked around the group and saw the way Van and Lottie's eyes sparked with interest, the way even Shauna had stopped pretending to frown. And then there was Jackie, who still looked thrilled, like she'd just handed everyone a gift.

Annie swallowed hard. She could almost hear her dad's voice in her head—spirits that do not come from God—but it sounded smaller now. Distant.

It's just a game, she told herself. It's just pretend.

"Right, Annie Jo?" Laura Lee asked, her eyes cutting sideways to Annie.

Annie didn't answer right away. Her shoulders were tight. She felt like she was standing in two worlds—the one she came from, and the one she was in now. She wanted to laugh, to lighten the mood like Jackie said. God knew they needed it. But her stomach twisted all the same.

"I don't know," she muttered, trying to keep her tone neutral. "It's just a stupid game, right?"

But her voice didn't sound like she believed it.

"Exactly, Annie Jo! It's not the occult, Laura Lee. It's just a game." Jackie rolled her eyes. The girl looked around the group until her eyes found Shauna, nodding at her to join in. "Come on, Shauna, tell them. It'll be fun."

Shauna hesitated, being put on the spot, her eyes darting across the group. They landed on Annie.

And Annie was already watching her.

Their gazes collided again—not charged, not confrontational, just aware. Annie's was softer now. No pressure. No challenge. Just... presence.

Shauna's breath caught for the briefest moment before turning back to Jackie, shrugging. "Well, I mean, it's not like we have anything better to do. And maybe this dead guy can give us some life advice."

Laughter spread around the group, quiet at first, then real. Some of the tension broke.

Jackie lit up. "So it's settled. Tonight. The attic. We make contact."

After that, most of the group dispersed with laughter trailing behind them like smoke until only Natalie, Annie Jo, Laura Lee, Molly, and Travis remained by the cabin steps.

Laura Lee turned to her sister, her fingers gently circling Annie's arm. "You're not actually going to do this, are you?" she asked, her voice low and urgent.

Annie glanced at her. "It's fake, Laur," she said softly, eyes searching her sister's worried ones. "I mean... I don't see the harm in hanging out with everyone. It's just for fun. It's not like we haven't done it at a sleepover before."

"Annie..." The blonde looked around, not letting go. "It's different out here. You know that."

Her tone wasn't scolding—not this time. It was pleading. Quiet and careful, like she didn't want to push too hard and send Annie walking away again.

Annie looked down at their joined arms for a beat, then reached up and gently pried her sister's hand away. Not to reject it—just to hold it. "It's not real," Annie repeated, softer now. "It's just something to do. To make us laugh. That's all."

Laura Lee's eyebrows twitched, pain flickering in her eyes. "I just..." she hesitated, looking at Natalie, Molly,and Travis before glancing down.

"What?" Annie pressed gently.

The blonde looked up at her, her expression filled with something fragile. "Just... be careful. Okay?"

Annie smiled faintly. "I'll be fine. I'll be with Nat."

Laura Lee nodded, but it was too slow, too unsure. "I know," she said, but she didn't sound convinced.

Her eyes flicked over to Natalie, who was a few steps away, pretending not to listen, but watching out of the corner of her eye. Something shifted in Laura Lee's face—not judgment, not disapproval, but a quiet kind of fear. A knowing.

She looked back at Annie and reached up, brushing a piece of hair from her forehead—the same way she always did when they were little.

"I just want you to be okay,"  Laura Lee whispered. "After."

Annie didn't ask what she meant by after. Something about that lingered in her chest, strange and uneasy.

She nodded anyway. "I will be."

Laura Lee pulled her into a quick hug, arms tight, breath catching against her twin's shoulder. Annie froze, then wrapped her arms around her, closing her eyes for half a second. When they pulled away, Laura Lee gave her one last look—soft, loving, fearful—and walked back toward the clearing.

On the porch, Travis leaned against the railing, fingers picking absently at a splinter in the wood. Molly came up behind him and bumped her shoulder into his, her hair a little tangled from the breeze, her expression skeptical.

"I can't believe they're actually doing a seance," she muttered, resting her head against his shoulder like it was second nature. "If the dead guy shows up, I'm not saving any of you. I'm running straight into the woods."

Travis snorted under his breath, his eyes dropping to her. He leaned down, lips brushing her hair. "Mol, there's wolves out there. And probably bears."

"Well, shit." She groaned dramatically and buried his face into his neck. After a second, she peeked over his shoulder, down at Annie who was still standing at the bottom step, half-lost in her thoughts. "Are you guys joining the ghost squad?"

Natalie raised an eyebrow at Annie, who gave her a hesitant half-smile. Natalie bumped her shoulder lightly, her grin crooked and a little soft. "Well," she said,  teasing just enough to draw Annie out. "If we are, Travis and I should probably go start hunting. Y'know, so we don't starve and get possessed in the same night."

Travis rolled his eyes but was already stepping toward the door. "We'll get the rifle."

He bumped Molly's hip with his, and she sighed, dramatically heavy, before lacing her fingers through his. As they disappeared into the cabin, the door creaked behind them, leaving only the hush of the wind and rustling trees.

Annie lingered on the bottom step, her hands deep in her pockets. The laughter from before had faded into something quieter. She cast a glance sideways, watching Natalie without fully turning her head. "You're not worried?" she asked softly.

Natalie tilted her head. "About what?"

"Ghosts?"

"Nah." She shook her head slowly, a strand of hair slipping loose from her ponytail. "I don't believe in ghosts."

"But you're still going along with it?" Annie's voice was careful, like she wasn't quite asking about the seance at all.

Natalie's eyes lifted toward the trees. "Guess I just wanna see what happens."

The wind whispered overhead, tugging at Annie's hair. She looked at Natalie again, took in the way her face softened when she wasn't watching herself so closely. Their eyes met — only for a second. But it was enough.

"Well," Annie said, voice light, "in case this ghost thing goes sideways... I'm sitting next to you."

Natalie smiled. "Good. I was gonna save you a spot anyway."

‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧

"Oh, keeper of this wild and hidden place... we anoint ourselves with blood and earth."

Annie's nose scrunched as she watched the Taylor girl drag a mixture of dirt and deer blood across Shauna's forehead. Most of the girls — and Travis — sat upstairs in a large circle. Shauna stood near the edge, a black tie wrapped around her eyes as a blindfold, a makeshift pendulum in her hand made of a knife tied to a piece of rope.

Jackie moved around the circle slowly, reverently — or at least trying to seem that way. The bowl in her hands sloshed with each step, the thick mixture of blood and dirt clinging to the sides like something alive. She held it out first to Travis, who hesitated only a second before dipping two fingers in and dragging them across his own forehead in a crude X.

Annie watched as it moved from hand to hand like an offering, her stomach twisting a little tighter with each pass.

Then Natalie took it.

She looked down at the blood for a beat too long— not in hesitation, but as if thinking. Then she drew the symbol on her own skin with ease, her jaw tight. When she turned to pass it to Annie, she paused.

Annie didn't reach for it.

Her hands stayed in her lap, her eyes locked on the bowl as if it might lurch forward on its own. Natalie saw it — the way Annie's fingers curled in against her jeans, how her mouth pressed into a faint, uncomfortable line.

Natalie didn't say anything at first. Just dipped her fingers back into the mess, careful not to spill, then leaned in close. Her voice was low, meant for Annie alone.

"Here. I got you."

Her hand came up slowly, gently brushing Annie's hair aside—the contact soft, careful. Her fingertip pressed against Annie's forehead and dragged down, then across. The blood was warm. Thicker than Annie had expected.

Annie didn't move. She just let it happen, her throat bobbing once in a silent swallow. Satisfied, Natalie met her eyes for a half second—something unspoken flickering between them—then passed the bowl on.

Jackie's voice picked up again, all ritual now. "Oh, Spirit," she intoned, lifting her hands theatrically. "We offer our sister as your instrument. Come to us and speak your peace."

Shauna took a deliberate breath and squared her shoulders. "It is I, Jacques." Annie's eyes flicked over to the Shipman girl as she started to speak. The brunette's voice was flat, nasal, almost bored—and from the other side of the circle, someone snorted. A few scattered chuckles broke out before Shauna exaggeratedly lowered her tone and repeated, more dramatically, "Jacques."

Jackie huffed and crossed her arms, clearly irritated by the break in tone.

"Ask your questions," Shauna continued, swinging the pendulum knife slowly in front of her. Her voice dropped into a low, whispery lilt. "The pendulum will answer them."

Van leaned forward with a grin, clearing her throat. "Okay..." she trailed off, her eyes fluttering shut as she raised her hands. "Dear dead hunter guy... did OJ do it?"

A loud burst of laughter rippled through the room.

Jackie groaned quietly, rubbing her temples. Shauna peeked beneath the blindfold and offered a helpless shrug, a half-smile tugging at her mouth. "Come on, guys. Real questions," Jackie spoke, trying not to lose control of the ritual.

"The veil is thin between our two planes," Shauna intoned again, her voice steadier this time, rising just slightly above the murmuring candlelight and breathy giggles. "Ask what is in your heart."

A strange chill skated down Annie's spine—feather-light but unmistakable. It didn't feel like a draft. It felt... wrong. Like something brushing past her that shouldn't have been there.

She shifted almost instinctively closer to Natalie.

Natalie noticed. Without a word, she placed her hand gently on Annie's knee—warm, grounding. Her thumb rubbed once, barely a motion. A flicker of a smile passed between them. Small. But real.

"I'll go," Mari declared, leaning forward with the boldness of someone who couldn't stand stillness for too long. Her chin lifted, her lips curling into a smirk. "Is Principal Berzonsky screwing Ms. DeWine?"

Laughter broke out again, louder this time. Even Travis let out a snort, shaking his head.

All eyes turned to Shauna, who made a show of swaying the pendulum in slow, dramatic circles. "It is certain," she said solemnly, but the grin tugging at her mouth betrayed her.

Gasps and laughter filled the air.

"Hunter guy," Akilah jumped in, eyebrows raised as she turned toward Shauna. "If we hadn't crashed... would we have won Nationals?"

Shauna hesitated just a second longer this time. Then the pendulum began to sway back and forth in a straight, steady line. A chorus of exaggerated gasps and groans rippled through the room—some sincere, some mocking.

"Lies," Molly muttered, leaning back and tossing one hand lazily in the air. "We definitely would've won. Hunter guy is biased."

A few girls laughed again, but the room was starting to feel different.

Heavier.

Annie tried to laugh along—gave a half smile that barely reached her eyes—but something in her chest twisted tight. The air had thickened around her, like it was pressing too close. She shifted in place, brushing her fingers against the hem of her shirt, rubbing the fabric between her thumb and forefinger. Her skin felt prickly—the hairs on her arms lifting in slow, invisible waves.

She blinked, her gaze fixed on the pendulum still swinging in Shauna's hand.

It moved in a gentle arc... then jerked.

Not wildly. Not enough for anyone else to notice. Just a twitch, like a string pulled taut by an invisible hand.

Annie's breath caught.

No one else reacted. Not even Shauna. The others were still smiling, still laughing.

Maybe she'd imagined it.

She pressed her fingers to her knees and inhaled—too fast. Her head felt light.

Beside her, Natalie leaned in, her brow furrowed now with real concern. "What's wrong?"

Annie looked at her. For a moment, she didn't answer—didn't know how to.

"Nothing," she lied, forcing her lips into a weak curve. "Just... need a minute. I'm going to run to the bathroom."

She stood up too quickly, her legs unsteady beneath her. Natalie's hand brushed her arm as she stepped away — a fleeting warmth, a barely-there anchor. Annie offered her a faint smile, then turned toward the ladder.

The room spun in slow motion as she climbed down, the candlelight casting warped shadows across her back. Each footstep hit the wooden rungs with a soft, dull thud. Thud. Thud. The murmur of the girls upstairs blurred behind her like sound slipping underwater.

By the time her boots hit the cabin floor, the air had shifted again.

The lower level of the cabin was colder. quieter. The thick air from upstairs didn't seem to follow her down there, though the silence had a weight of its own.

She let her shoes touch down lightly on the creaky wooden floorboards, the softer side of her soles muffling the sound. The temperature dropped instantly as she stepped away from the warmth and noise of the attic — a cold, quiet stillness wrapping around her shoulders like a damp wool blanket. She turned toward the dimly lit space—only to nearly collide with a tall silhouette.

Taissa.

The older girl stood with her arms folded tight across her chest, half-shadowed by the flickering firelight. Her expression was flat but unmistakably tired, like the night had already worn her thin.

"Can you do something about your sister?" she muttered, voice low, as she jerked her chin toward the corner of the cabin. "She's been reading that flight manual like it's the Bible."

Annie blinked, caught off guard. "What?"

Taissa didn't elaborate. She just nodded toward the darkened end of the room.

Following her gaze, Annie spotted her sister seated in a crooked wooden chair near the back wall. Laura Lee sat hunched forward, elbows resting on her thighs, a thick, grease-stained manual spread across her lap. Her fingers trailed slowly along the weathered diagrams and dense technical instructions, like she was trying to memorize them through touch. Her lips moved soundlessly, eyes squinting in concentration as she read line by line, like she could will the knowledge into her bloodstream.

Annie barely glanced at Taissa again. She moved past her without a word, brushing by Javi on her way. The boy looked up from where he was rearranging kindling beside the fire, eyebrows raising with mild curiosity as Annie passed.

She came to a halt in front of her sister and crossed her arms, planting her feet just slightly apart. "What are you doing?"

Laura Lee didn't flinch. She looked up slowly, not startled—just... focused. Her eyes flicked to the smeared X on Annie's forehead, narrowing faintly as if she were trying to make sense of it. "What did they do to you?" she asked, voice low and flat. "What are you guys doing up there?"

Annie rubbed at the mark with the back of her hand, smearing the dried blood further across her skin but not fully wiping it away. "It's... nothing," she mumbled. "Just stupid." Her gaze dropped to the manual still open in Laura Lee's lap. "What are you doing with that manual?" she asked, her voice tightening. Laura Lee made a face, and Annie's eyes narrowed. "You aren't thinking of flying that plane, are you?"

"Grandpa used to fly a Cessna," Laura Lee said softly, barely looking up from the manual. Her finger trailed a slow line beneath a block of tightly packed text, her eyes moving like she was trying to memorize it by touch alone. "And he could barely write his name." She tapped the page gently, almost like it was sacred. "Can't be that hard."

Annie's eyebrows pulled together, her stomach knotting. "You're not serious."

"There's no harm in reading about it, at least."

"No harm?" Annie's voice rose, sharper than she meant it to be, but still trembling beneath the surface. "You do realize that thing is dangerous, right? I mean... it already tried to kill me."

Laura Lee didn't flinch, but her shoulders tensed. "We're stranded in the middle of nowhere, Annie Jo."

"And what? You think you're gonna just... read a manual, hop in that thing, and take off? Fly straight into town and call home?" Annie scoffed, but it didn't feel funny. Her voice cracked. "Come on, Laura Lee."

"Maybe!" Laura Lee snapped, her calm finally cracking like ice under pressure. "I mean, we have to try something! We could die out here if we stay any longer."

"And you could die if you go, Laura Lee!"

The words rang out louder than either of them expected, crashing into the wooden walls like a thrown rock. Silence fell hard and fast. Across the room, Taissa looked away. Javi's head dipped, eyes avoiding the sisters. Even Coach Ben shifted on his side, staring blankly at the wall.

Laura Lee's mouth parted slightly. Her eyes flicked to Annie, full of something unreadable. "That's not fair," she said, barely above a whisper—like the words themselves weighed too much to say louder.

Annie opened her mouth, but nothing came out. Her throat was too tight.

Javi stood abruptly, brushing off his pants like he was shaking the moment off his shoulders. "I'm gonna go see what's funny," he muttered, already moving toward the ladder. Taissa followed, close behind.

Coach Ben didn't say anything. Just turned his back to them, folding in on himself.

The silence left behind was heavier than the heat upstairs. It stuck to Annie's skin, thick and unmoving.

"I'm sorry, Laur." She dropped onto the edge of the cot across from her sister, the tension in her limbs unraveling into something softer—worry, grief, love tangled up and confused. "I just don't want to lose you," she whispered, looking down at the floor.

Laura Lee closed the manual gently, like it might break if she moved too fast. She placed it beside her, eyes never leaving Annie's face. "You're not going to," she said. "I'll always be right with you."

Then suddenly, a scream erupted from upstairs.

It wasn't a playful shriek or one of the girls teasing the others again—it was a scream, high and sharp and real. It split the quiet like lightning splitting a tree. Both girls jolted, their heads whipping toward the ladder that led up to the attic. Annie's breath caught in her throat as the sound echoed through the cabin, bouncing off the wooden beams like it had claws.

Laura Lee slowly rose to her feet, her eyes wide and locked on the ceiling. "What in the world?"

Annie didn't move. She sat frozen for a second too long, blinking hard, her fingers twitching against her knee. Her heart was slamming against her ribs like it wanted out. She opened her mouth, trying to find something—anything—reasonable to say, something to patch the edges of her fraying nerves.

"It's okay," she managed, her voice brittle. "Uh, they're probably just... messing around. Trying to scare each other or something. Right?"

Another sound cut her off—a loud thud, like something heavy had dropped or fallen, followed by a sharp scrape. Wood dragging against wood. Furniture. Not laughter. Not play.

Annie flinched hard, her hand darting out to grab Laura Lee's arm. "Laur—"

But Laura Lee was already gone, striding toward the other side of the cabin, fast and uneven. "Coach!" she called, voice rising. "Do something! Make them stop!"

Annie followed, the hair prickling on the back of her neck. But she slowed, her stomach turning as she spotted the man. Coach Ben wasn't just still—he looked wrong. His face had gone a shade too pale, a sheen of sweat collecting at his temple, his jaw tight. His right hand gripped his side, the knuckles white, as if he were holding something in.

Annie stepped closer, cautiously, her breath shallow as she touched his forehead —  clammy, cold, and damp with sweat. "Ben?"'

Then—upstairs—a shatter. The sharp, unmistakable crack of glass breaking.

Ben jerked forward without warning and vomited violently onto the floor. Thick, soupy remains of his half-digested dinner hit the ground with a sick splash.

Laura Lee recoiled, a hand flying up to cover her mouth as she stumbled back.

Annie dropped to her knees beside him. Her hands hovered over him for a beat before she reached out, brushing the damp hair from his forehead, her fingers trembling. "It's okay," she whispered, not sure who she was trying to convince. "It's okay. You're okay."

Ben sat back slowly, his face ashen, his breaths coming fast and shallow. His eyes locked onto hers for a moment—wide, glassy, terrified.

Then they dropped.

To the tin cup sitting on the ground beside him.

He stared at it like it was foreign, like he didn't remember putting it there. His brow furrowed.

Annie followed his gaze.

The cup caught the firelight just so—something about the way it gleamed, the slight discoloration along the rim. Her stomach churned. Something about it felt... off.

Before she could ask, Laura Lee was already moving. She grabbed her Bible from the table like a weapon and reached for Annie's arm. "We need to go," she said, and this time there was no hesitation in her voice. Her grip on Annie's wrist was tight, almost desperate.

They ran for the ladder.

Annie's legs burned as she climbed. Her shoes hit the rungs hard, the muscles in her thighs shaking with each step. Her heart was thudding in her throat, nearly choking her, and she could hear Laura Lee's ragged breath just ahead.

When they reached the top, Laura Lee stepped aside—and Annie froze.

The attic was chaos.

Glass glittered across the floor in sharp little islands. The window had been shattered, and the cold night air rushed in like a wave, cutting through the candlelight. Lottie was in the center of the room, screaming—not words, not names, just raw sound. A sound so guttural and pained it barely sounded human. Annie's brows furrowed as she saw fresh blood falling down Lottie's forehead, gasping at the wound.

Annie's gaze darted around. Most of the girls had retreated into corners, curled tight into themselves. Natalie stood nearby, tense and alert, with Molly beside her. Javi and Travis lingered close, eyes wide. In the center, Akilah, Shauna, and Van were trying to hold Lottie down—arms around her shoulders, gripping her legs, their faces flushed with effort and fear. But Lottie fought, thrashing violently like something was trying to claw its way out from inside her.

Then, suddenly, she broke free.

Her head snapped up, and her eyes locked on Annie. They were wild—wide, unblinking, too bright in the low light.

Annie didn't move fast enough.

Lottie surged forward and grabbed the front of Annie's shirt, fists curling into the fabric with frantic strength. Her whole body was trembling, but her voice—when it came—was eerily still.

"Votre sœur est la suivante," she said, soft and cold and clear. "Tout ce que vous savez disparaîtra."

"Lottie!" Annie gasped, trying to gently pry the girl's fingers from the fabric of her shirt. But Lottie only clung tighter, her grip shifting to Annie's shoulders, her fingernails digging sharply into the girl's skin. "Let go—-Lottie, please—"

"Tout ce que vous savez disparaîtra," she whispered again, this time closer—her lips brushing just below Annie's ear. Annie flinched hard as Lottie's fingernails dragged upward, catching on her skin—leaving behind a shallow, angry scratch along the base of her throat.

"Lottie, you're hurting me!"

Then Natalie was there.

She lunged forward, grabbing Lottie's upper arms and yanking her backward with a growl. "Get the hell off her!"

Lottie stumbled back, still murmuring, her legs folding beneath her as Akilah, Shauna, and Van caught her again, struggling to keep her upright. She was still fighting, still whispering things no one could quite understand.

And then, Laura Lee stepped in front of Annie and Natalie, holding her bible out like it was a shield. "The power of Christ compels you." She inched forward, her eyes wide. "Begone, Satan! The power of Christ compels you!" She shouted again. "Lottie! Lottie, stop!"

Lottie's head twisted violently, her scream raw— animal, almost.

And Laura Lee did the only thing she could think to do.

She threw the Bible.

It hit Lottie square in the chest with a thud, then tumbled to the attic floor beside her. The screaming stopped instantly, the girl's voice cracking into a ragged breath.

"Ow! What the hell, Laura Lee?" Lottie gasped, blinking hard as blood trailed down her face. She glared up at the blonde, eyes wide.

The attic fell into a thick, suffocating silence. No one moved. No one spoke. They just stared—at Lottie, at Laura Lee, at each other—each of them struggling to catch their breath, to make sense of what had just happened.

"Seriously?" Mari finally whispered, her voice brittle. She hugged her knees to her chest. "What the motherfuck just happened?"

That broke the spell.

Everyone turned—eyes snapping toward Annie, who stood frozen behind Natalie. Natalie quickly turned around to Annie, glancing at her with wide eyes. "Annie?"

The younger girl didn't answer. She was gripping her throat, fingers trembling around the long, angry scratch blooming across her skin. A faint trail of blood pulled beneath her nails from where Lottie's nails had caught and dragged.

She stared at her hand. at the blood.

So did everyone else.

And then, finally, Annie muttered, her voice hoarse.

"What the hell?"

‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧

After the séance, silence settled like dust.

One by one, they descended the ladder in stunned quiet, each step deliberate, their limbs heavy, movements slow and dreamlike. No one spoke. No one dared to. Their faces were pale, eyes wide and flickering like the candles that had burned low and guttered during the ritual. The fire in the hearth hissed and crackled, but even that felt quieter somehow. Like the whole world was holding its breath.

They changed into pajamas in near silence—blank stares, quiet footsteps, no jokes, no teasing, no complaints about the cold or the creaky floorboards. Just the dull shuffling of fabric, the rustle of blankets, the whisper of something unspoken pressing into every corner of the cabin.

Now, huddled in the main room, wrapped in thin blankets and thick nerves, they waited.

Waited for something—anything—to break the stillness.

Akilah was the first to speak, her voice barely more than a breath but sharp against the quiet. "Do we still think it's up there?"

Her words made everyone pause and stiffen. Van's head jerked up instinctively, her eyes flicking toward the attic ceiling. The floorboards above didn't creak. No more screaming. Just that stillness. But the damage was done. Everyone's skin crawled.

Taissa sat up from where she had been half-lying on her blanket. Her glare moved sharply across the circle like a flashlight beam. "You all need to stop," she snapped. "There's nothing up there. Lottie's been acting weird for weeks."

Travis didn't respond—his arm was folded behind his head, staring blankly up at the rafters. Beside him, Molly sat upright, her knees tucked to her chest, pretending not to listen but visibly tense. She said nothing at first, but her whole body was bracing.

Until she couldn't stay quiet.

"Are you serious, Taissa?" Molly's voice rang sharper than she meant, slicing through the hush.

Taissa blinked, caught off guard. "Excuse me?"

"You don't get to do that," Molly snapped. Her voice had that barely-held-back edge, like something had been building in her all night and was finally cracking. She straightened up, shoving Travis's arm away without so much as a glance. "You don't get to sit there and act like we didn't see what we saw. You pretending everything's fine doesn't help anyone."

The room tensed around them. Several people glanced between the two girls, as if waiting for the fight to tip over. There was something there—something unspoken and old between them—and it flared like a live wire in the dark.

Molly shook her head, voice rising. "We can't just lie down and pretend tonight didn't happen. I mean—Jesus, what if next time someone really gets hurt?" Her voice cracked, just barely. "I'm not saying it was a demon or a ghost or whatever, but something happened. Just admit it."

Taissa didn't argue. She didn't even look back at her. She just turned her head toward the fire, eyes locked on the dim, flickering embers.

On the porch, Annie stood alone.

She looked like a statue frozen in the moonlight, one arm wrapped tight around her ribs like she was holding herself together. Her other hand hovered near her neck, fingers brushing over the angry, torn skin where Lottie's nails had dragged. The wound stung in the cool night air, a faint line of blood dried and itching beneath her fingertips.

But the goosebumps crawling across her arms weren't from the cold.

The cabin door creaked softly behind her.

Annie didn't turn.

Natalie stepped out, quiet, barefoot, a folded blanket slung over her arms. She didn't say anything—just crossed to Annie's side with a gentleness most people didn't expect from her. Without a word, she draped the blanket around Annie's shoulders. Her touch was careful. Respectful.

Annie didn't flinch. She didn't thank her. Didn't even glance her way. Just stared out into the black line of trees, where moonlight caught on windblown branches and shadows danced across the clearing.

"You okay?" Natalie asked, her voice low.

Annie was quiet for a long time.

"I don't know." She didn't whisper it. She wasn't trying to sound fragile. Her voice was just... hollow. Like someone had scooped the center out of her. No fear. No anger. Just emptiness.

Natalie leaned against the porch railing beside her. Her eyes followed Annie's gaze out into the dark. "I've seen a lot of weird shit," she said after a pause. "But that... that wasn't just..."

She trailed off. There was no word for it.

Annie gave a small nod, but her jaw was tight. "When she scratched me..." Her voice was tighter now, edged with something like disbelief. "She didn't even see me. Not really. Her eyes were—God, I don't know. Somewhere else. And she knew. Like... she knew where I'd be. Like she wasn't in control." She swallowed hard. "And then the French? That wasn't Lottie."

The silence that followed was different—closer, more suffocating. Annie's gaze dropped to the porch boards beneath their feet. Natalie shifted beside her, uneasy with the weight of it.

Then Annie spoke again, quieter this time. "When I was little, I thought God was like... order. Like if you did what you were supposed to—said your prayers, kept your thoughts clean, followed the rules—He'd keep you safe." She hesitated, her throat working. "That's what the Father said. That God is protection." She blinked hard. "But today—when Lottie came after me—I didn't feel protected. It didn't feel like God was there."

She looked down at her hands. At the blood still caked beneath her fingernails.

"And right now, I just..." her voice wavered, almost broke. "I feel like I'm slipping. Like I'm doing something wrong. Like He's mad at me. Or turning away. Or maybe..." She shook her head. "Maybe God isn't out here. Or maybe He's not listening anymore."

Natalie turned toward her. There was something in her eyes—sadness, maybe. Or understanding. But she didn't speak.

Annie exhaled slowly, shakily. "I want to believe. I need to. But I don't know what I'm believing in anymore."

Natalie opened her mouth, then closed it. She wanted to say something, to console Annie, but she couldn't find the words. She fiddled with her fingers for a second before looking at the door behind her. "Let's go back in before you get too cold."

Inside, the tension hadn't broken.

Taissa sat half-upright, arms braced behind her, face unreadable. She looked like she was waiting for another challenge, another crack in the foundation. "Does someone have to prove it?" she asked suddenly, voice flat.

Everyone looked at her.

Annie stepped just past the threshold, her throat sore and raw. "Prove what?"

Heads turned. And for a moment, something shifted in the room. The edge softened, just slightly. People took in the scratch on her neck, the shaken weariness in her eyes.

"Are you okay?" Van asked, her voice soft.

"I'm fine," Annie said quickly—too quickly. The kind of fast that wasn't just trying to reassure, but trying to outrun something. Her fingers trembled slightly as she pushed her hair from her face, her voice dry and low from hours of silence and smoke. "What are we proving?"

Her tone was clipped, but something in it buckled—like a seam splitting under pressure.

Akilah answered, arms crossed tight, voice sharper than usual. "Taissa said she'd sleep up there," she said, lifting her eyebrows. "To prove there's nothing in the attic."

Taissa immediately raised both hands like someone deflecting blame. "I didn't say I would. I said someone should."

"That's convenient," Molly muttered without looking up, her thumb picking at the loose thread on her sleeve. "Scared of something, Taissa?"

Taissa's eyes cut toward her like a blade. "Shut it, Serrano."

Another beat of silence. The air was full of friction.

The air tightened like lungs before a scream. Silence stretched, taut and uneasy.

And in that hush, something inside Annie shifted. Not all at once. Not in some dramatic rush. Just a quiet snap inside her chest—like her grip on reality, or control, or God, or herself, had finally slipped loose. Like she had been bracing and holding and carrying too much, and her fingers had finally just... let go.

Her breath caught in her throat.

She took a step forward.

"I'll do it."

The words dropped like a stone in still water. Everyone stilled.

Shauna froze, her hands halfway through fiddling with the frayed hem of her blanket. Van blinked, brow creasing. Molly turned sharply, her body jerking upright. Even Taissa looked momentarily stunned, her mouth parting as if she hadn't expected anyone to call her bluff.

Akilah frowned. "You're gonna sleep up there?"

"She's not serious," Molly snapped, already moving like she might get up. "Annie, no. Come on. You don't have to—"

But Annie didn't answer. Not right away.

But Annie didn't answer. Her eyes skimmed the room, glassy and far away. Not a single gaze met hers. She wasn't really looking, not at them. Not at anyone. It was like she wasn't even fully here. Just a girl-shaped shell walking herself toward something she'd already decided.

"I am," she said softly. "I'll do it."

Travis crossed his arms tightly, shifting where he sat against the wall. "That's insane," he muttered, voice low.

Annie's head snapped in his direction—not angrily, but sharp, like she needed to anchor herself somewhere. "It's not." Her voice was low, urgent. "There's nothing up there, right?" She turned to look at Natalie, her voice catching just slightly, cracking in the softest way. "Right?"

Natalie didn't answer right away. She studied Annie carefully, brows drawing in as if trying to read something in the way she was standing, the way her voice sounded wrong.Just stepped forward, slowly, like she was approaching a ledge, reaching out to rest a hand on Annie's shoulder.

"You don't have to prove anything to any of us, Annie," she said gently. "You're not... you don't need to do this."

Annie let out a breath that was half a laugh, but it cracked in the middle. "It's not about proving." She tried for lightness, tried for something normal, but her voice frayed around the edges. "It's so we can all sleep. Unless someone else wants to volunteer?"

Her gaze flicked around the room. No one spoke.

The silence was heavy and wide. Even the fire seemed to dim.

Annie's shoulders sagged, just a little, like the last of her fight was draining out of her. But she didn't say anything else.

Finally, Annie turned. She moved toward her bedding without a word, her blanket dragging behind her like something half-forgotten. She knelt down stiffly, grabbed her pillow with fingers curled too tightly around the fabric.

No one stopped her.

Not even Natalie.

She crossed the cabin alone, each step slow and deliberate. Her body moved like it didn't quite belong to her anymore—like she'd stepped outside of herself, was watching this from far away.

The pantry door creaked open. Her hand gripped the ladder's rung.

And then—creak—she started to climb.

Wooden steps groaned under her weight, the old ladder trembling slightly. Her hair slipped from her shoulder, catching the firelight as it disappeared through the opening. The last glimpse of her was the pale arch of her foot vanishing into the dark.

And then she was gone.

It felt like the cabin exhaled—and then held its breath again, deeper this time. Thicker.

Shauna had been watching. Her eyes didn't leave Annie's retreating figure. After a beat, she shifted, propping herself up on her elbows. Jackie lay beside her, silent and still.

"We should go up there," Shauna murmured.

Jackie turned toward her, stunned. "Up there? In the attic?" Her voice dropped to a whisper. "Are you insane?"

"She shouldn't be alone. If it weren't for—"

Jackie sat up sharply, cutting her off. "Shauna, whatever happened tonight wasn't because of our dumb séance. It was a freak thing. An accident." She crossed her arms, lying back down again with her back turned away from Shauna. "If you want to sleep up there, fine. Be my guest. I'm staying down here."

Shauna stared down at her, lips parted. No words came.

Across the room, Natalie was murmuring to Laura Lee in low, tense tones. Annie's name was spoken. Again. And again.

The brunette turned her head, looking as a few of the younger girls stared toward the attic, their eyes flickering between each other like someone should do something—but none of them would.

Then Natalie stood. The movement was sudden—resolute. She dropped to one knee, gathering her blanket and pillow in swift, practiced motions. Her mouth set in a hard line.

"I'll go—"

"I'm going," Shauna interrupted.

Natalie froze mid-reach. Jackie sat up slightly, staring.

"You're what?"

"I'm going."

Shauna didn't explain. She just moved. Quiet, sure steps. She grabbed her bedding in a single motion and walked across the cabin, never looking back.

The ladder creaked as she climbed. Once. Twice. And then she was gone, too.

At the top, the air changed. The attic was dim and colder. Still.

Shauna drew in a short breath, her hand tightening slightly against the fabric in her arms as her gaze rested on the Chamber girl looking out the window. She pursed her lips, then nodded to no one but herself.

And then she let the attic close around them.

‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧

Annie turned at the low groan of the attic floorboards behind her.

For a half-second, her breath caught in her chest. Her whole body tensed—shoulders drawn up, fingers curling slightly against her blanket as she forced her head away from the moonlight.

But then she saw her.

Shauna stood in the shadows just beyond the threshold, her outline haloed faintly by the moonlight. She clutched a pillow to her chest like a shield, a pair of worn blankets draped over one arm, stepping slightly forward. Her eyes searched the dark like she wasn't sure she'd made the right choice—like her body had come up the ladder before her mind had caught up.

She didn't speak. Just stood there for a moment, poised at the edge of something.

"You came?" Annie's voice broke through the hush. It was small, raw—softer than she meant it to be.

Shauna gave a shrug. The kind you give when you don't have the words yet. She stepped inside slowly, the attic groaning beneath her steps. "I figured you might need... a friend," she said, voice low.

Something loosened in Annie's chest. The tension in her arms unraveled slightly. Her mouth twitched—not into a full smile, but the start of one. Something real. She nodded and shifted her blanket, nudging it aside to make space beside her.

Shauna crossed the floor quietly, the attic groaning beath each step. She laid her things down beside Annie's—carefully, like any sound might shatter whatever was holding this moment together. The fabric made a soft brushing sound as it touched the wood. She sat down slowly, folding her legs under herself. Annie watched her from the corner of her eye but said nothing.

They didn't speak for a while.

The silence wasn't heavy—not this time. It had softened. Wrapped around them like the thin blanket between their arms. The only sounds were the creak of old wood settling, the wind brushing through the shattered window, and the distant, rhythmic hoot of an owl in the trees.

Annie sat with her knees drawn to her chest, arms draped loosely around them. Her gaze drifted to the sliver of moonlight spilling across the attic floor. Branches shifted outside the broken windowpane, the shadows dancing along the rafters like they were pacing.

"You've been tired lately," she said eventually, her tone so soft it barely disturbed the air.

Shauna didn't answer right away. She reached down, pulled the edge of her blanket higher onto her lap. "Haven't we all?" she murmured.

It was a brush-off. A soft one, but still—too easy, too clean. It didn't sit right.

Annie turned slightly, watching her. Her eyes flicked toward Shauna's hands—tugging at the edge of the blanket, then settling still.

"You've been getting up early. Leaving the cabin before anyone's awake." Shauna's head turned slightly, her eyes widening a fraction. "And you touch your stomach when you think no one's watching."

The Shipman girl flinched at that—just barely, a tightening of her shoulders, a twitch of her fingers—but it was there. She just sat there, unmoving, her face angled toward the floorboards. But Annie saw the way her fingers curled tighter. Saw the twitch of her jaw. Saw the fear flash in her eyes before she looked away.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to..." Annie trailed off. Her voice faltered, embarrassed. "I just... noticed."

Shauna swallowed, hard. Her shoulders lifted, then fell. She didn't look up.

"You know, don't you?"

Annie nodded. A slow, steady motion. "I saw when you used the cloth. With the deer blood. Everything else just kind of clicked."

Shauna let out a breath, the air leaving her lungs like she'd been holding it too long.

"How far along are you?"

"I don't... I don't really know," Shauna whispered. The words barely made it past her lips.

Annie shifted toward her. She moved slowly, like reaching for a frightened animal. Her hand hovered for a second—giving her space to pull away. When Shauna didn't move, Annie rested her palm lightly over Shauna's.

"Have you told anyone else?"

Shauna shook her head. Her hair moved across her cheek.

Annie gave a quiet nod. "Okay."

That was it. Not a lecture. Not a dozen questions. Just—okay. A word like a held hand.

They sat in stillness, but it had changed. Where there had been cold space, there was now warmth, quiet and tentative. Their shoulders brushed. Their breathing synced, almost without noticing. The attic no longer felt hollow.

And neither one of them felt alone.

Shauna broke the silence again. Her voice was even smaller this time. "I'm scared."

Annie squeezed her hand—just slightly. Not tight. Not urgent. Just enough to say I'm here.

"I know."

That cracked something in Shauna. Not a full sob—just a collapse of whatever flimsy composure she'd been holding up like a shield. Her face twisted slightly, her mouth pressing tight to keep from making a sound. Her eyes shone. She let out a shuddering breath, barely audible. Like the air had turned too sharp to breathe.

Annie didn't push. She just shifted again—this time with both arms opening, silent.

An invitation.

Shauna hesitated. Not because she didn't want to move—but because she needed it too much. She blinked rapidly, sniffed once, then leaned into the open space like a wave collapsing forward.

Annie folded her arms around her gently, letting Shauna's weight settle into her chest. The older girl tucked herself close, her head resting beneath Annie's chin, fingers twisting into the hem of her shirt like it was the only solid thing in the world. Annie held her with steady hands and stayed still, her chin lightly resting in the brunette's hair.

No words.

Just the steady rhythm of breathing. A heartbeat. A presence.

The kind of silence that didn't feel empty anymore.

Outside, the wind shifted. The trees whispered across the attic window.

But in the center of it all, the two girls stayed still—one unraveling, the other holding her together.

Not safe. Not really. Not yet.

But something close.

AUTHOR'S NOTE:

Nothing screams girlhood like whispering secrets in the dark while the attic window shatters and someone starts speaking fluent French in a trance. Classic cabin-core.

This chapter was intense to write — not just because of the creeping supernatural dread, but because everyone's cracking in such beautifully awful little ways. Annie's starting to doubt the very ground she stands on (faith, family, reality, all of it). Shauna finally confesses something fragile. And Natalie? She just keeps showing up. Quietly. Softly. Like she's trying not to scare a bird away.

Someone get them together already.

Jackie suggesting a séance like she's planning a pool party and not it into their lives? Incredible. The unearned confidence. The sleepover energy. The girls being girls at the edge of the abyss. I fear her. I respect her. I would also let her ruin my night...

Anyways!

Laura Lee and Annie are also hanging by a thread—you can feel it in every breath of that scene by the fire. Annie stepping down from the attic like she's shed her skin and finding her sister practically worshipping a flight manual like it's the scripture? My whole chest clenched. That fight? That was two different faiths colliding.

I'm scared of what's coming.

Let us now praise my queen, Molly Serrano. Resisting Misty, beefing with Taissa like it's her part-time job, lowkey trying to avoid talking about her feelings for Travis... I love her deeply. She's my feral little saint. She's my sprit animal.

Then there's Coach Ben. Collapsing. Vomiting. Definitely not doing great. No notes. Just dread.

Also, someone please translate what Lottie said in French. For science (and crying).

And let's talk about Annie volunteering to sleep in the attic like she's got something to prove to God and the team.

That moment wrecked me. 

She's unraveling, but she's still trying to be the strong one. Still trying to protect everyone — even when she doesn't know who she is anymore.

OH—and Shauna crawling into bed with her??? I didn't expect that scene to hit so hard, but it did. These two are forming the quietest, most aching little kinship. Like they don't know how to ask for comfort, so they're just... offering presence.

I wonder what happened between them... theories?

Anyway. The slow-burn yearning continues. Annie's still unknowingly in the closet (emotionally and literally now, if you count the attic), but we're getting closer.

Thank you, truly, for reading and reacting. Comments, theories, votes library adds — they mean the world and keep me writing. Please don't be shy! Every "!!!" fuels me for three more scenes. Keep them coming—I'm always lurking.

Question of the Chapter: If you had to pick one character to sleep next to in the haunted attic, who are you choosing and why?

Bonus Question:  What's really going on between Molly and Taissa?? Because that tension feels personal.

We're just getting started. This chapter takes place during Episode 5. We are so close to you know what and Doomcoming.

Also, I definitely need more theories and headcanons.

Until next time,
Lyss