Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

The hearse rattled along the dirt road like it had somewhere better to be. Outside the windows, the woods pressed closebare branches, gray light, a sky that looked heavy enough to crack open at any second. The road wound endlessly ahead, a single strip of mud and gravel cutting through trees that hadn’t seen power lines or mailboxes in years.

Inside, the air was still, the kind of still that makes small talk sound too loud. There were seven of them, seated across from each other on black leather benches. Their luggage was stacked near the driver, and a faint hum from the engine filled the pauses between voices. Every few minutes, someone cleared their throat, shifted, or tried to start a conversation that didn’t go anywhere.

Autumn Henderson sat nearest the back window. Her coat was unbuttoned, a dark strand of hair tucked neatly behind one ear. She’d been quiet since they left the highway, listening more than speaking, her gaze shifting between faces and reflections in the glass. She had a habit of watching people like she was taking notes even when she wasn’t.

Across from her sat Blake, slouched against the seat, arms folded. His duffel bag was at his feet, one corner of a book poking out, his own, of course. She recognized the title, everyone in the car probably did. He caught her looking once and offered a half-smile that didn’t reach his eyes.

“You’d think they’d send something more… normal,” he said finally, gesturing to the hearse’s cracked interior, “I’m all for atmosphere, but this feels like overkill.”

No one laughed, the tires rolled over a rut in the road, shaking the vehicle hard enough to make the windows rattle.

“Maybe that’s the point,” Adrianna said from the middle row. She was dressed too well for the ride, boots, silver hoops, and perfume sharp enough to cut through the stale air. “We’re the kind of people who pay to stay somewhere other people ran screaming from, might as well lean in.”

Paige, sitting beside her, tucked her coat tighter around herself and looked out the window. She hadn’t said much since they left the station, just polite nods and soft smiles. Her eyes followed the trees, the way they bent and blurred past. She didn’t want to be there, that much was clear, though she hid it behind a faint expression of curiosity.

Blake leaned forward slightly, “You’re the actress, right? Doom Service?”

Paige nodded once, “That was a long time ago.”

He smiled like he wanted to keep the conversation going, but she turned back toward the window.

Near the front, Andy adjusted his seatbelt and checked his watch. He had the kind of posture that suggested discipline, though his voice, when he spoke, was easy and unpretentious. “Does anyone know how much farther it is?”

JP, the driver, didn’t turn around, “About twenty miles,” he said, voice flat, “road gets rougher after the creek.”

“Of course it does,” Adrianna muttered, leaning her head back.

Kawayan, who had been sketching quietly since the drive began, turned the page of his notebook. The soft rasp of graphite on paper filled the silence. Autumn glanced at the drawingtrees, the road, maybe the faint shape of the hearse itself. His hand moved with steady precision, every line deliberate.

“What are you sketching?” she asked.

He didn’t look up, “Whatever feels like it’s watching.”

Autumn studied him for a moment, but he didn’t elaborate. She made a note of the answer anyway, mentally. People told you everything if you let silence do most of the work.

They passed a sign half-buried in the weeds, the paint flaking from years of weather, Cold River 12 Miles.

The sky had darkened since they left town. A gray that looked swollen, like the color right before thunder. The forest grew denser the farther they went, trunks packed close, branches overlapping until daylight seemed thin and uneven.

Blake checked his phone again, no signal, “I don’t know why I expected bars out here,” he said, mostly to himself.

“No one’s going to call you anyway,” Adrianna teased.

He smirked, “That’s the dream.”

Autumn shifted slightly, turning toward him, “You’ve done a few retreats like this before, haven’t you?”

Blake shrugged, “A couple, usually I’m invited to talk about my book or survivor’s guilt. Sometimes they just want the guy who made it out alive.” His tone dipped on that last part, so quietly most wouldn’t have caught it.

“Do you ever get tired of talking about it?” Andy asked from up front.

Blake’s jaw worked before he answered, “Depends on the day.”

Crow tilted his head. “The living have the hardest time leaving the dead alone.”

“Is that your tagline?” Adrianna said, half-laughing.

He ignored her.

Paige shifted beside Adrianna, fingers worrying at the sleeve of her coat. She finally spoke again, so softly that the words nearly vanished into the hum of the engine. “People like stories where they can survive them, maybe that’s why we keep retelling the same ones.”

The hearse dipped into a rut and no one responded after that.

An hour passed and the dirt road grew narrower, the trees thicker. Mud slapped the sides of the car, the forest outside looked almost blue now, the kind of color that happens before the light disappears entirely.

“Who organized this thing again?” Andy asked, breaking the quiet.

“Ruby,” Blake said, “She is the one that sent out the invites at the least, she owns the property with her wife.”

Adrianna looked up, “So we’re really staying there, the actual Cold River Motel.”

“That’s the whole point,” Blake said.

Kawayan finally glanced up from his drawing, “You sound like you’re not sure that’s a good thing.”

Blake met his gaze, then looked away, “It's like the holy grail of true crime, I've visited a lot of places but this one… doesn’t feel like any of them.”

Crow chuckled quietly, “You can feel it too.”

Autumn raised an eyebrow, “You mean superstition?”

“I mean residue,” Crow said, “Tragedy leaves weight. It seeps into the walls, into the ground, sometimes people like us carry it without realizing.”

Adrianna smirked, “So we’re haunted now?”

He smiled without humor, “You were long before this trip.”

The car went quiet again, except for the sound of gravel grinding under the tires.

Autumn leaned her head back, closing her eyes for a moment. The motion of the vehicle was steady, rhythmic. She listenednot just to the sounds, but to the patterns between them. The way Blake fidgeted with his sleeve whenever someone mentioned death. The small hitch in Paige’s breathing when the road turned uphill. The way Andy’s curiosity wasn’t laced with fear, just analysis and Crow… calm, deliberate, always testing reactions. Adrianna’s confidence was a thin film stretched over nerves. Kawayan seemed the only one content in the silence.

It was, in a strange way, almost peaceful. The calm before something remembered its own story.

She opened her eyes when Blake spoke again.

“So what about you, Autumn?” he asked, “You’re the only one who hasn’t said why you came.”

Her expression didn’t shift, “Professional interest, I specialize in human remains. Sites like Cold River have a… pattern. The way stories deform evidence over time. I thought it would be interesting to see how much of the original scene survived.”

Blake nodded, studying her for a second longer than he should have, “You really think there’s still something there after thirty years?”

“There’s always something,” she said, “People just forget how to look.”

Adrianna smirked, “Remind me not to end up on your exam table.”

Autumn smiled faintly, “That would imply I’d need to identify you.”

Laughter flickered, brief and uneven, even Paige smiled a little.

The driver slowed. The road had narrowed into a single lane, trees scraping the sides. Ahead, the faint outline of a wooden bridge appeareda thin spine crossing a shallow creek. JP didn’t say a word as he eased the hearse across it, the tires crunching over planks slick with mud.

The sound of the creek below filled the quieta thin, constant rush. For a moment, the world outside the windows felt still again, motionless. Like they’d driven somewhere time didn’t quite reach.

“Almost there,” JP said finally, though none of them could see anything ahead but more trees.

Blake leaned his head against the seat and exhaled, “Good, my spine’s vibrating from all the bumps.”

“You can always walk,” Adrianna said.

He gave her a look, “Ladies first.”

She smiled lazily, “Always.”

Autumn watched their exchange, quiet amusement flickering across her face. It was strange how people clung to humor when things started to feel too real.

Paige spoke up again, voice low, “Did any of you ever read about what they found after the murders?”

Andy turned slightly, “You mean the official reports?”

She nodded, “They never released the photos, but someone online said the rooms looked… staged. Like they were meant to send a message.”

Crow’s eyes narrowed, but he said nothing. Adrianna leaned forward, “You sound like you’ve done your research.”

Paige hesitated, “I tried not to, I don’t really like this kind of thing.”

Adrianna blinked, “Then why come?”

Paige looked down at her hands, “I didn’t want to stay home.”

No one asked her to explain. The road twisted again, rising into a slope. The trees broke for a moment, showing a glimpse of the valley belowa dark green expanse and the faint suggestion of rooftops in the distance, swallowed by fog.

“Is that it?” Andy asked.

The hearse climbed higher, engine straining. The sky above had gone from gray to the kind of dull silver that promised rain soon. The smell of earth seeped in through the cracked window. Autumn breathed it in, it smelled clean, but old.

Blake shifted again, restless, “Anyone else feel like this road’s getting longer?”

“It’s the anticipation,” Crow murmured, “Places like this have a way of pulling time around themselves.”

“Or maybe you just talk too much,” Adrianna said.

He smiled thinly, “That too.”

Kawayan closed his sketchbook and rested it on his knees. “Do you ever wonder why people are drawn to things that scare them?” he asked quietly. “They say it’s curiosity, but maybe it’s more like permission to look at the dark without falling into it.”

“That’s a poetic way of saying we’re all messed up,” Blake said.

“Maybe we are,” Autumn replied, “That’s what makes us interesting.”

For the first time since the trip began, her voice carried enough weight that everyone turned to look at her. Her tone wasn’t cold, but steadymatter-of-fact, like she’d already seen what they hadn’t yet reached.

Outside, the dirt road curved into another blind turn. The trees closed in again, branches almost scraping the roof. The sky darkened to something heavy and waiting. No one spoke after that.

The only sound was the hearse pushing forward through the dirt, the low hum of the engine, and the quiet realization that soon, too soon, they’d reach the place they’d all come to see, even if none of them understood why.

The forest outside had changed. The farther they went, the thicker it became, no gaps, no sky between the branches. The hearse’s engine hummed low, steady against the rattle of loose gravel and dirt. It wasn’t raining yet, but the clouds hung low enough that it felt like the air itself had weight.

They’d been driving for nearly two hours. The conversation had shifted from introductions to speculation. Nobody said it, but they were all thinking the same thing, how close they were now to a place they’d only ever seen in photographs.

Blake leaned forward a little, glancing out the window, “Feels like the middle of nowhere.”

“That’s because it is,” Andy said from the front seat, “The nearest house is forty miles back.”

Adrianna smiled faintly, resting her chin on her hand, “That’s the charm, you can’t get an authentic murder-site experience next to a Starbucks.”

Blake gave her a sidelong look, “That’s what we’re calling it now? Authentic?”

She shrugged, “It’s better than calling it depressing.”

Paige shifted beside her, pulling her coat tighter. She’d been quiet most of the trip, her focus turned to the window where streaks of mud and fog distorted the view. She wasn’t smiling anymore.

“Does anyone know what exactly we’re doing there?” Andy asked, half-turning toward the back, “The invite was… vague.”

“‘An immersive Cold River experience,’” Blake said, quoting the glossy wording. “Guaranteed access to the original site, two nights, food included, limited to seven guests.”

Autumn, seated near the rear, looked up from her notes, “No itinerary, though.”

“Which is weird,” Blake said, “Usually events like this have at least a schedule. Q&A, dinner, group photo with a fake knife, something.”

Adrianna laughed softly, “That’s why I said yes, mystery’s sexier than a schedule.”

Blake smirked, “You’d say that about anything.”

“Not anything,” she said, stretching out her legs, “Just the things that make people uncomfortable.”

Paige spoke quietly, almost to herself, “Uncomfortable how?”

Adrianna’s eyes slid toward her, “You really don’t know who I am, do you?”

Paige hesitated, “I’ve heard the name.”

Adrianna smiled without warmth, “Then you’ve heard enough.”

The car hit a rut, jolting them. Blake coughed into his fist to break the silence, “So you’re that Adrianna.”

“The one who?” Andy began.

“Yeah,” she said, cutting him off. “I know what people say, I sleep with killers. Serial ones, not your average jealous-boyfriend types. You’d be surprised how polite they can be once they know you understand them.”

Paige’s face went pale, “You’re serious?”

Adrianna tilted her head, “Why wouldn’t I be?”

Crow, who had been silent until then, smiled faintly, “You chase the darkness to see if it’ll love you back.”

Adrianna looked at him, “I don’t chase it, It finds me.”

Blake gave a low whistle, “Jesus.”

“Relax,” she said, amused.

Autumn watched the exchange, expression unreadable. Her eyes flicked briefly to Blake, his discomfort obvious and then back to Adrianna. “What do you get out of it?” she asked, tone almost clinical.

Adrianna met her gaze, “Control, they can’t scare you if you’re the one getting inside their head first.”

“Or their bed,” Blake muttered.

Adrianna smiled, “That too.”

The driver, JP, cleared his throat, though whether from disapproval or impatience, no one could tell. He hadn’t said much the entire ride, just the occasional “hold on” when the road turned to mud or the engine growled too loudly.

Andy turned in his seat again, “So none of you have actually met Ruby or Portia?”

Everyone shook their heads.

“Not even an email?” Blake asked.

“Just the invitation,” Paige said, “Mine came in the mail, not even digital, it had wax on it.”

Blake nodded. “Same here. Handwritten, too. Creepy, but points for commitment.”

“Who still uses wax seals?” Adrianna said.

“People who want you to think you’re part of something special,” Crow answered.

Blake glanced at him, “And are we?”

Crow smiled thinly, “That remains to be seen.”

The dirt road dipped sharply, forcing everyone to grab the seatbacks. The hearse rocked, tires kicking up pebbles that pinged off the undercarriage.

Autumn steadied herself, eyes scanning the tree line as though studying the terrain. “You’d think they’d fix the road if they’re reopening soon.”

“Or they’re trying to keep tourists away,” Andy said.

Adrianna stretched again, her bracelets clinking softly. “They’ll fix it once they start charging more. Right now, this is part of the fungetting bounced around before your ghost tour.”

Blake smiled faintly, “You’re assuming there’s a tour.”

“There better be,” she said, “I didn’t sign up for a book club.”

Paige managed a small smile at that, though it didn’t last. “What if it’s not a tour? What if it’s something… interactive?”

Adrianna perked up, “Like a murder mystery dinner?”

“Or a reenactment,” Blake said, “Maybe they’ll assign us roles. Victim, killer, psychic…”

Crow laughed quietly, “You think they’d risk that kind of irony?”

“People love irony,” Blake said.

“Not the ones who die in it,” Crow replied.

Autumn leaned back against the seat, crossing one leg over the other. “Maybe we shouldn’t assume anything, we were invited, not informed.”

“Spoken like a cop,” Adrianna teased.

“I’m not,” Autumn said, “But I work with them.”

Blake snapped his fingers, “Right, the bone doctor.”

“Forensic anthropologist,” she corrected, tone even.

“Right,” he said again, pretending to jot it down on an invisible pad, “So you study the physical aftermath.”

“You could put it that way.”

Adrianna grinned, “I like her, she’s calm but probably scary as hell when you make her mad.”

Autumn didn’t respond.

Andy cleared his throat, “So what drew everyone to Cold River in the first place? The case, the mystery, or just… the spectacle?”

Blake smirked, “All of the above.”

Andy spoke, “six people killed in a single night and not ritualistically, not exactly. It was chaotic, the press made it sound satanic because that sold papers.”

Adrianna leaned forward, suddenly interested, “You read the old files?”

Andy nodded, “Some, most are redacted now but the coroner’s reports are online… well, pieces of them. What stood out to me was the precision, whoever did it wasn’t panicked, they took their time.”

“That’s what makes it beautiful,” Adrianna said under her breath.

Paige flinched, “Beautiful?”

Adrianna looked at her evenly, “Not the deaths, the craft.”

Blake frowned, “You talk about it like it’s art.”

She smiled, “Maybe it was.”

Crow let out a quiet laugh, “You’d get along with the original killers.”

“That’s the point,” she said, unapologetic, “They fascinate me, always have.”

Autumn glanced toward her, “You think fascination excuses admiration?”

“I think pretending otherwise is dishonest.”

The vehicle grew silent for a stretch after that. Only the sound of dirt crunching beneath the tires filled the air.

Eventually, Blake broke the quiet, “You know, I read somewhere that after the murders, the police left everything untouched for three days before they started cleanup. Imagine what that must’ve smelled like.”

Andy nodded slightly, “The photos were bad enough. Blood everywhere, half the furniture broken but what’s interesting is how organized it all looked once you step back. Whoever did it wasn’t just killing, they were arranging.”

“Arranging what?” Blake asked.

“Meaning,” Andy said simply.

Autumn’s gaze flicked to him, “You sound like you’ve thought about it a lot.”

“I teach this stuff,” he said, “I have to think about it.”

“Sure,” Adrianna said with a smirk, “That’s why you came here.”

He ignored that.

Crow shifted in his seat, his voice cutting through softly, “You all keep talking about what happened then but none of you are asking what might happen now.”

Blake looked at him, “You think it’s going to happen again?”

Crow smiled faintly, “History doesn’t repeat, people do.”

Autumn studied him for a moment but said nothing.

The sign appeared out of nowhere, a warped wooden post leaning to one side, the words COLD RIVER MOTEL 1 MILE AHEAD barely legible under the grime.

Blake sat up a little, “Here we go.”

Paige leaned forward, trying to see through the windshield, “It’s still standing?”

Andy smiled faintly, “Apparently.”

Adrianna grinned, “This is the part where the driver says we can’t turn back.”

JP didn’t react, he just kept driving, eyes fixed ahead.

The road curved, rising slightly, and then the trees began to thin. For the first time in miles, there was open skypale, bruised-looking, heavy with the promise of rain.

No one spoke for a while. They all leaned forward in near unison, waiting for the first glimpse. Then they saw it.

The Cold River Motel emerged from the fog like something waking up. Long and low, one floor of faded wood and new paint. The old neon sign buzzed weakly, It looked both familiar and wrong at the same time, like a photograph brought to life but missing pieces.

JP slowed to a crawl as they reached the lot. Gravel crunched under the tires, the sound sharper than expected after so much dirt.

Blake breathed out a quiet laugh, “It’s real.”

Paige’s eyes stayed fixed on the building, “It doesn’t feel real.”

Adrianna grinned, her reflection flickering in the window, “I can’t believe I’m finally here.”

Autumn rested her hand on the edge of the seat, eyes on the dark windows. “There’s light inside,” she said quietly.

Sure enough, a faint glow came from behind the curtains in the lobby. The sign buzzed again, a dull hum that filled the silence. The hearse rolled to a stop in front of the building. The engine idled softly, the air heavy with the smell of mud and pine. None of them moved to open the door.

They just sat there, seven strangers bound by curiosity, staring at the motel that had haunted their imaginations for years. The sign flickered once, casting pale light over their faces.

Autumn’s eyes caught the reflection in the glass, all of them, silent, waiting. No one spoke. No one reached for the handle. The world outside felt like it had been holding its breath.

Chapter Text

The hearse stopped with a shudder that rattled the windows. Mud splattered across the headlights, turning the building ahead into a vague shape, tall, gray wood, trimmed in new black siding. The Cold River Motel sat like a museum exhibit left out in the open, its fresh paint failing to hide the age beneath.

JP shifted the gearstick and muttered, “End of the line.”

No one moved at first, the only sound was the ticking of the engine and the faint buzz of a neon sign struggling against the gloom. Its letters glowed blood-red: COLD RIVER MOTEL.

JP popped the back door open, letting in a gust of cold, damp air. The smell of pine and wet soil hit them like memory.

They climbed out one by one, the ground squelched under their boots. Autumn stepped down last, closing the door softly behind her. She tipped her head back, studying the sign again. The red glow reflected in her eyes, faint and restless, like a warning light.

“Welcome to Cold River,” Blake said, voice thin with nerves.

Adrianna smirked, “You sound like you’re about to give a eulogy.”

Before anyone could respond, the front doors of the motel swung open. Two women stood there, framed by the warm light of the lobby.

The taller one, Portia, looked crisp and deliberate, blonde hair in a neat twist, white blazer, matching trousers. Everything about her seemed chosen for control.

Beside her, Ruby leaned casually against the doorframe, all black lace and red lipstick, eyes lined thick and sharp. She looked like she’d walked straight out of a music video about funerals.

“Finally!” Ruby called out, her grin too wide to be friendly. “You made it, we were starting to think the woods ate you.”

Portia stepped forward, her smile practiced. “We’re so glad you’re here, welcome to the rebirth of the Cold River Motel.”

Blake muttered under his breath, “Rebirth, huh, that’s comforting.”

Portia ignored it or didn’t hear, “Let’s get you inside. We’ve got wine, heat, and Wi-Fi that actually works.”

“That last one’s a lie,” Ruby said, flicking her cigarette into the mud, “But we do have wine.”

Adrianna laughed, “That’s all I need.”

They followed the two women into the lobby, shaking off the cold as they went.

The inside was warmer but not comforting. It smelled faintly of lemon polish and old carpet, a mix of something new trying to mask what couldn’t be scrubbed away. The lobby had been remodeled into a strange blend of modern minimalism and morbid nostalgia.

Against one wall stood a selfie backdrop in red neon letters: Too Hot To Die. The sign glowed above a white couch framed by artificial roses. On the opposite wall, framed black-and-white photos from the original 1990s investigation had been enlarged, their captions written in a font that looked suspiciously like blood.

Paige’s eyes fixed on the neon display. Her name was on that line once, movie posters, interviews, cheap merch. She had screamed it into microphones at conventions years ago. Seeing it here, glowing above faux roses, made her stomach twist.

Ruby caught her expression and smiled, “You like it? Thought it’d be a nice tribute. Kind of meta, right?”

Paige’s throat tightened, “It’s… surreal.”

Ruby clapped her hand, “Exactly! That’s the vibe. We want immersive horror, but tasteful. People eat that up.”

Portia shot her a warning look, “Let’s not overwhelm our guests on day one.”

Adrianna tilted her head, “Oh, I’m plenty overwhelmed already, in a good way.”

Blake chuckled softly, “Of course you are.”

Ruby gestured around like a tour guide, “We kept most of the original structure, the floor plan, the hallway leading to the rooms. Everything you see was here thirty years ago. We just… gave it new life.”

Andy ran his fingers along the polished counter, “It’s impressive, you’ve managed to preserve the history without turning it into a spectacle.”

Ruby grinned, “Oh, it’s definitely a spectacle.”

Portia cut in, smooth as glass, “Each of your rooms has been personalized. You’ll notice a quote on your door from Dante’s Inferno, Ruby insisted.”

“It’s poetry,” Ruby said, “Suffering with style.”

Blake raised an eyebrow, “Which one of us gets Abandon all hope?”

Ruby’s grin widened, “That’s the fun part, you’ll find out soon.”

They gathered near the check-in counter, setting their bags down. The group looked awkward again, shuffling and murmuring, uncertain whether to act impressed or disturbed.

Hemmingway, the chef, popped his head out from behind the double doors that led to the kitchen. “Are they finally here?” he asked, voice dramatic. His hair was silver and wild, his apron patterned with tiny skulls. “Portia, darling, I’ve been waiting to start the welcome spread for twenty minutes.”

“Patience,” Portia said, though she smiled.

Ruby blew him a kiss, “They’re here, Hemmingway, you can start your magic.”

“Already did,” He winked and disappeared again.

Portia handed out old-fashioned brass keys, “Rooms are down the hall, there’s coffee and drinks in the lounge, dinner at seven.”

Autumn turned her key in her palm, reading the small inscription on the attached tag, Room 7 – The Gentle Rain From Heaven.

She smiled faintly, “Paradiso, not Inferno.”

Ruby shrugged, “Not all sinners are obvious.”

Autumn’s gaze lingered on her a second longer, not judging, just curious.

Portia continued, “Please, make yourselves comfortable. We’ve worked hard to make this weekend something special.”

Blake leaned on the counter, casual but trying too hard, “So what exactly does that mean… something special?”

Portia hesitated just long enough to notice, “You’ll see.”

Ruby added, “Think of it as a once-in-a-lifetime experience.”

Crow smiled, the corners of his mouth twitching, “Let’s hope that’s not literal.”

Ruby laughed too loudly, “Oh, you’ll live, probably.”

They drifted through the lobby, taking it all in. The furniture was mismatched but deliberate, velvet chairs, dark wood tables, candlelight flickering in glass jars. Everything gleamed with newness, but the air still carried a faint metallic tang that no renovation could erase.

Kawayan stood before a framed photograph on the wall, crime scene tape across a doorway, a blood smear half-erased by flash glare. He tilted his head slightly, studying it like a painting.

“You can still feel it,” he said quietly.

Autumn joined him, “What do you feel?”

He glanced at her, considering the question, “Stillness, the kind right after something terrible happens.”

She nodded once, “That doesn’t go away, no matter how much you polish the floors.”

Across the room, Adrianna was already snapping a photo of the neon wall, adjusting her pose. “Come on,” she called out, “Someone take one with me.”

Blake groaned, “Really?”

“It’s called embracing the experience,” she said, “We might as well start acting like we’re famous.”

Paige didn’t move, her gaze was fixed on the neon again, the way its glow painted her reflection red. For a moment, she looked younger like the frightened girl she used to play onscreen.

Autumn walked over and gently touched her arm, “You okay?”

Paige startled a little, then nodded quickly, “Yeah, just weird seeing it again.”

“It’s strange being back at a place you only knew through stories,” Autumn said softly.

“Except I made a career off pretending it didn’t scare me,” Paige replied.

Autumn smiled, “Maybe that’s why it does.”

Blake joined them, hands in his pockets, “I vote we don’t overthink it. We’re here, it’s creepy, we like creepy, that’s why we signed up.”

Adrianna laughed from across the room, “Speak for yourself, I like dangerous, not creepy.”

“You like serial killers,” he said.

“They like me,” she corrected, smiling at her reflection.

Ruby, leaning near the front desk, chuckled, “You people are going to fit right in.”

Portia gave her a look sharp enough to cut glass, “Ruby.”

“What? They know what they signed up for.”

Paige murmured, “Do we?”

The group moved toward the lounge area, the sound of their footsteps echoing on the polished floorboards. Framed newspaper clippings lined the hallway: BLOODBATH AT COLD RIVER MOTEL, KILLERS STILL AT LARGE, SATANIC RITUAL CLAIMS NINE LIVES.

Adrianna ran a finger along one of the frames, “You know, I think I had that issue in my scrapbook.”

Andy frowned, “You kept newspapers from a murder?”

She shrugged, “Everyone collects something.”

Blake raised an eyebrow, “Some people collect stamps.”

“Boring people,” she said.

Crow stopped beside her, reading a headline aloud under his breath. “‘They found her heart missing.’”

Autumn’s voice broke the tension, calm but clear, “You’ve done an incredible job restoring the space.”

Portia seemed to relax a little at her tone, “Thank you, it’s been a long process.”

Ruby gestured around dramatically, “Blood, sweat, and Instagram polls.”

Adrianna snorted, “Very relatable.”

Andy smiled faintly, “You said you restored the original layout, does that mean the basement’s still there?”

Ruby’s eyes lit up, “Oh, yes, wait till you see that, It’s our centerpiece.”

Portia stepped in quickly, “That’s for later, we don’t want to overwhelm anyone on their first night.”

Blake grinned, “Define overwhelm.”

Ruby ignored him, clapping her hands together, “All right, little sinners. Drop your bags upstairs, explore, take pictures, do whatever gets the blood pumping. Dinner’s at seven, and it’s to die for.”

Autumn caught the faint flicker of discomfort on Portia’s face before the smile returned.

As the group scattered, some heading down the hall, some lingering, Autumn wandered toward the front window. Outside, the dirt road vanished into the trees, the sky a dull silver sheet. She could just make out the hearse driving off, its shape reflected faintly in the glass.

Blake appeared beside her, hands shoved deep into his jacket pockets, “What do you think?” he asked.

She looked at him, “About the motel?”

“About all of it.”

She took a breath, studying the lobby… the neon wall, the laughter from upstairs, Ruby’s cigarette smoke curling near the doorway. “It’s fascinating,” she said finally. “The way they’ve turned tragedy into atmosphere. You can’t tell if it’s preservation or exploitation.”

“Probably both,” he said.

“Probably.”

He looked down at her key tag, “Room seven, lucky number.”

“I hope so,” she said, smiling lightly.

He hesitated before walking away, leaving her by the window.

Across the room, Adrianna was asking Ruby whether any of the original furniture had blood on it, her tone half-flirtatious. Crow was murmuring something to Andy about “energies in the wood.” Paige had retreated to the couch, pretending to scroll through her phone though her screen was black.

Autumn watched them all quietly, that same calm warmth softening the edges of the room.

When Portia came over, clipboard hugged to her chest, she seemed genuinely grateful for the reprieve. “You seem level-headed,” she said quietly. “Thank you for that, Ruby tends to… run away with her enthusiasm.”

Autumn smiled, “It keeps things lively.”

Portia nodded, “Just don’t let her talk you into any of her games. She means well, but she forgets where the line is.”

“I think most people here already crossed it,” Autumn said gently.

Portia almost laughed, then seemed to catch herself, “You’re not wrong.”

Ruby called out from the other side of the room, “Portia, stop scaring the guests!”

Portia sighed, “Duty calls.”

Autumn watched her walk back toward the group, clipboard tapping softly against her thigh. The lobby hummed with the low murmur of conversation and the faint hiss of the neon sign. The light from it painted the walls pinkish red, washing over their faces as they spoke.

Kawayan was asking Andy about his lectures. Adrianna was flirting with Blake, who seemed mildly confused by the attention. Crow had taken it upon himself to read palms at the bar, his tone somewhere between mystic and salesman.

Autumn leaned against the counter, observing. They were strangers still, but there was already a strange intimacy forming between them, brought together by shared fascination, fear, and the subtle thrill of proximity to something awful.

Ruby watched them too, eyes glinting. “They’re perfect,” she whispered to Portia. “Every one of them is exactly the type.”

“The type for what?” Portia asked, though she didn’t really want the answer.

Ruby smiled, “For history to repeat itself.”

Autumn turned from the window just as lightning flashed far off beyond the hills, white, silent for now. The storm was still distant, but it was coming.

She looked around the lobby again, taking in every detail, the way Ruby’s laughter filled the space, the faint strain in Portia’s smile, the neon reflection trembling in Paige’s eyes. The walls looked clean, but she could almost feel what lay underneath.

Beneath all the fresh paint and new polish, the Cold River Motel still remembered and for the moment, so did she. The first sound to fill the newly renovated lounge was ice clinking against glass.

Ruby stood behind the bar, shaking a cocktail mixer like she’d been waiting all day for this performance. She wore a fitted black dress with red stitching that caught the light every time she moved. Behind her, the backlit shelves gleamed with liquor bottles arranged like art.

“Welcome to the first official Cold River happy hour!” she announced, pouring dark red liquid into the waiting line of glasses. “It’s called the Blood Pact, don’t worry it’s just pomegranate and gin… probably.”

Adrianna was the first to laugh, “You’re adorable, pour me two.”

Portia appeared at her side, setting down a tray of appetizers, tiny crostini topped with something red and glossy. “Roasted beet and chèvre,” she explained, “Our chef thought it fit the theme.”

Blake raised an eyebrow, “Is the theme ‘murder chic’?”

“Exactly!” Ruby said, handing him a drink, “You get it.”

Paige accepted hers carefully, as if it might spill on her pale sweater. The rim had been dusted in crimson sugar. She stared at it, not drinking.

Autumn took hers last, sniffed it briefly, and smiled politely, “Creative.”

Ruby grinned, “You like it?”

“I do,” Autumn said, “You clearly put a lot of thought into every detail.”

That earned her genuine warmth from Ruby, who looked almost disarmed by the compliment. “Thanks, you’d be surprised how many people show up to places like this just to sneer.”

“I don’t sneer,” Autumn said, “I observe.”

“That sounds worse,” Blake muttered.

She smiled, “It’s not.”

The lounge itself had a low hum of conversation, the storm still holding off outside but pressing close in the heavy air. Candles flickered on each table, their glow catching the brass accents of the new décor. The ceiling fans turned lazily, pushing around a faint smell of polish and old smoke.

Andy leaned on the counter beside Blake, nursing his drink. “It’s odd,” he said quietly, “how much this place feels like both a set and a shrine.”

Blake nodded, “Yeah, I can’t decide if it’s brilliant or deeply messed up.”

“Maybe both,” Andy said, “Human fascination with death is… flexible.”

Ruby, overhearing, called out cheerfully, “Hey, I prefer the term entrepreneurial!”

Blake smirked, “Same thing, really.”

Crow stood near the piano, swirling his drink in slow circles. “You all keep using words like shrine and fascination,” he said, “But you forget what this place actually was.”

Adrianna turned, one eyebrow raised, “A crime scene?”

He nodded, “And crime scenes never really go quiet. You can patch walls, repaint floors but the air remembers.”

Ruby laughed, “Oh, come on, you sound like a trailer voice-over.”

Crow smiled faintly, “Maybe it’s fitting.”

Adrianna tapped her glass against his, “I like you, prophet man. You make everything sound dirty and spiritual.”

Paige looked uncomfortable, “Could we… maybe not talk about ghosts?”

Ruby leaned over the bar, “Oh, sweetheart, that’s kind of our whole thing.”

The group began drifting between couches and armchairs. Someone had turned on a playlist, low jazz mixed with ambient thunder effects that played through the speakers. It sounded expensive and slightly wrong.

Kawayan had taken over a corner table, sketchbook open, pencil moving in fast strokes. He drew without looking up, eyes flicking toward the crowd only when someone laughed too loudly.

Autumn crossed the room and paused beside him, “May I?” she asked.

He angled the page toward her. The drawing captured the lounge in rough graphite lines, the bar, the flicker of neon reflection on glass, even the vague outlines of Ruby and Portia framed like a pair of mismatched saints.

“It’s beautiful,” Autumn said.

He shrugged, “It’s documentation.”

“Same thing sometimes,” she replied.

He smiled slightly at that, “You really think so?”

“I know so.”

Her tone was gentle but sure, and Kawayan’s posture relaxed, then he went back to drawing.

Across the room, Blake had cornered Andy by the record shelf, “So you’re really a criminologist?” he asked, scanning the spines, “You must love this place.”

Andy chuckled, “Love isn’t the word I’d use. I study patterns of violence, not celebrate them.”

“Sure,” Blake said, “But you’re here.”

“Curiosity,” Andy admitted, “And maybe the chance to see how people react when faced with history’s darker corners.”

Blake raised his glass, “Cheers to that, we’re all rubberneckers at a car crash.”

Portia passed by, pausing just long enough to give him a look, “You could at least pretend to be impressed.”

“I am impressed,” Blake said, “You built a murder museum with mood lighting.”

Portia rolled her eyes but didn’t argue.

Paige had found her way to a seat near the fireplace. Adrianna joined her, perching on the armrest like a cat.

“You were in the movies, right?” Adrianna asked, sipping her second drink, “The Doom Service series?”

Paige nodded warily, “yeah.”

Adrianna grinned, “You’re a legend, I loved them, you made running from serial killers look hot.”

“That wasn’t really the goal.”

“Worked anyway.”

Paige looked down at her untouched drink, “It kinda felt wrong at the time and now it feels even more wrong, especially since coming here.”

Adrianna leaned closer, “And you still did the sequels?”

Paige’s voice dropped, “You don’t turn down work when you’re eighteen and broke.”

Adrianna smiled faintly, “Fair, I’d sleep with a murderer for less.”

“You already have,” Blake called from across the room.

Adrianna raised her glass to him, “And look at me, still alive.”

Crow’s voice drifted from nearby, “For now.”

She winked, “See? I told you… dirty and spiritual.”

Autumn had moved back toward the bar, where Ruby was showing off a new bottle of whiskey.

“You really renovated everything yourselves?” Autumn asked.

Ruby nodded, pouring herself a splash, “Every inch, Portia picked the furniture, I handled the vibe.”

“The vibe?”

Ruby gestured around, “Death, but make it chic.”

Portia appeared with a sigh, “She means atmospheric.”

“Atmospheric is boring,” Ruby said, “You want people to feel something.”

“They’ll feel plenty once they see their rooms,” Portia murmured.

Autumn tilted her head, “Each one has a quote from Dante’s Inferno, right?”

Ruby grinned, “That’s right, the sins of the guests reflected in the décor. I gave you something hopeful, you seem nice.”

“I try to be,” Autumn said.

“That’s suspicious,” Ruby teased.

Autumn smiled softly, “Maybe.”

As the evening wore on, conversation grew looser, the drinks helped. Blake was telling a story about a live-show taping gone wrong, complete with exaggerated impressions of producers and security guards. Andy laughed, genuine and surprised, even Paige cracked a smile.

Crow had gathered a small audience on the couch, drawing tarot cards from a black velvet pouch. “Don’t take them too seriously,” he said, though his tone made it impossible not to, “They just tell you what you already know.”

He flipped a card for Blake: The Tower.

“Lovely,” Blake said, “That’s not ominous at all.”

Crow smiled, “Collapse is just transformation with better lighting.”

Autumn, from the nearby armchair, sipped her drink and watched the exchange quietly. When Crow caught her eye, he tilted his head, “Would you like a reading?”

“I already know how it ends,” she said.

He looked intrigued, “And how’s that?”

“With everyone telling themselves they saw it coming.”

He laughed softly, “You’re sharp, Doctor Henderson.”

“I prefer Autumn.”

“I'll pull a card for you anyway" his hand flipped the next one, Judgement.

They both looked at each other, their smiles didn’t quite reach their eyes.

By seven o’clock the lounge had softened into something almost comfortable. The initial stiffness had worn off, laughter now filled the gaps where silence used to live.

Portia moved between groups, making sure everyone had what they needed, though her eyes flicked often toward Ruby as if waiting for her to go too far.

Ruby, for her part, was in her element. She perched on the bar like it was a stage, telling stories about the renovation, the bones found under the back steps, the old wallpaper with handprints, the time she thought she saw smoke coming out of a closed oven.

“Please tell me you’re joking,” Andy said.

She smiled, “Would it be better if I said yes?”

Paige looked ill, “Probably.”

Adrianna raised her glass again, “To ghost ovens and bad decisions.”

Everyone clinked their glasses half-heartedly, laughter trailing into uneasy quiet.

Autumn set her drink down, voice soft but sure, “You said you found bones.”

Ruby shrugged, “Probably animal, maybe not, they were small.”

Portia glared, “Ruby.”

“What? She’s a scientist, she appreciates the details.”

Autumn’s expression didn’t change, “Where are they now?”

“Buried again,” Ruby said lightly, “We’re not monsters.”

“Speak for yourself,” Adrianna said.

Outside, thunder rumbled faintly for the first time that night. The neon sign buzzed through the window, bathing the lounge in red flashes. For a moment, everything looked like a photo from thirty years ago…same walls, same air, just different faces.

Kawayan glanced up from his sketchbook, “The light’s different here,” he said quietly.

Blake looked over, “Meaning?”

“It’s too red,” Kawayan said.

No one responded.

A few minutes later, Portia excused herself to check on dinner preparations. Ruby turned the music up slightly, swaying behind the bar.

Adrianna leaned toward Autumn, “She’s wild, huh?”

“Ruby?”

“Yeah, she talks about death like it’s a brand.”

Autumn glanced over at Ruby, who was laughing with Blake, “Maybe it is.”

“You don’t think that’s weird?” Adrianna asked.

“I think everyone here has a reason for being drawn to this place,” Autumn said, “Some are just louder about it.”

Adrianna smirked, “What’s your reason?”

“I like understanding things that scare people.”

“Sexy,” Adrianna said, draining her glass.

Crow rose from his chair, stretching his arms, “It’s nearly time,” he said.

“For what?” Blake asked.

“For whatever comes next.”

Ruby grinned, “Dinner, you’ll love it.”

Portia reappeared then, clipboard in hand, her expression slightly strained. “Five minutes,” she said, “Finish your drinks and head to the dining room.”

“Do we get assigned seats?” Adrianna asked.

“Not unless you’re superstitious,” Ruby said.

“I am,” Adrianna said.

“Then sit near the door.”

Blake looked around, “Where is the dining room?”

“Through that archway,” Portia said, pointing to a corridor lined with framed headlines, “We’ll call you when it’s ready.”

She turned away, and Ruby leaned toward the group, “Pro tip, don’t ask what’s on the menu.”

Blake groaned, “Why do I feel like that’s exactly what I’m going to do?”

“Because you’re predictable,” Ruby said sweetly.

Autumn chuckled softly, “Maybe some mysteries are better before the reveal.”

Ruby raised her glass toward her, “Finally, someone who gets it.” Their eyes met, Ruby’s bright with mischief, Autumn’s steady and unreadable.

The guests spread out again, finishing the last of their drinks. Paige stood near the window, watching the first drops of rain spatter against the glass, Andy joined her.

“Still thinking about leaving?” he asked quietly.

She smiled faintly, “You noticed.”

“I notice things,” he said.

She hesitated, “I keep telling myself it’s just a weekend, a story to tell later.”

He nodded, “Stories are how we survive.”

She didn’t answer, just watched the rain.

Across the room, Blake was refilling his glass when Autumn approached, “You might want to pace yourself,” she said lightly.

“I work better with a buzz,” he said.

“Work?”

“Observation, same as you.”

She smiled, “Then maybe we’ll compare notes later.”

He froze for a second, unsure whether she was teasing, “Sure,” he said finally.

“Good.”

Portia returned to announce that dinner would be ready soon. The guests began gathering their things, setting empty glasses on tables. The chatter dimmed as the rain picked up, drumming gently against the windows.

Ruby turned down the lights until the room glowed only from candles and the red flicker of the neon wall. She looked around at the group, her grin wide and sincere.

“To new friends,” she said, raising her glass.

Adrianna raised hers, “And old ghosts.”

They drank.

Autumn set her glass down first, her voice calm but clear. “It’s beautiful here,” she said, “You’ve done something remarkable.”

Portia’s shoulders eased, “Thank you.”

Ruby smiled back, though her eyes flashed with something unreadable. “We like to think so but beauty’s easy when you start with a good tragedy.”

Autumn held her gaze for a moment, “Or a bad one.”

Ruby laughed softly, “Same difference.”

The rain thickened outside, soft at first, then steady. The sound filled the room, washing through the uneasy quiet that followed and for a few long seconds, no one spoke at all.

Chapter Text

Thunder cracked outside as Ruby pushed open the double doors to the dining room.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” she said, her voice rising above the storm, “your host, your chef, your visionary, Hemmingway.”

The group stepped inside.

The air smelled like smoke and honey glaze, a sweetness that turned sickly at the edges. The room itself was striking, walls painted a deep, theatrical red, black tablecloths, candles flickering in rows like votives at a funeral. For a second, it almost looked beautiful, then it started to feel wrong.

Paige’s breath hitched, “It looks like a wake.”

“That’s the idea,” Ruby said cheerfully, motioning to the long table, “Take a seat anywhere.”

Autumn hung back near the door, her gaze sweeping across the room. Every detail was deliberate, the color palette, the lighting, even the way the candles reflected in the polished silver utensils. It was designed to unsettle. She could feel her pulse quicken, a quiet warning in her chest.

Hemmingway stood near the far end of the room, grinning beneath the low lights. A long tray rested under a white cloth beside him, glowing faintly under the heat lamps.

“I hope you’re all hungry,” he said, voice full of theatrical pride.

Blake muttered, “That depends on what’s under the sheet.”

Hemmingway clapped his hands, “Ah, my favorite part.”

Ruby took her seat at the head of the table, “Prepare yourselves, you won’t forget this.”

Andy frowned, “Should I be worried?”

“Absolutely,” Ruby said, smiling.

Lightning flashed through the windows, bleaching the walls white for a heartbeat. In that brief glare, Autumn thought she saw her own reflection in the glass… pale, serious, her eyes sharper than she wanted them to be.

She sat down beside Blake, her palms were damp. She rubbed them against her jeans under the table, pretending it was just the humidity.

Hemmingway gripped the corner of the linen cloth, “Feast your eyes,” he said grandly, and pulled.

The cloth hit the floor and the room went utterly still.

Paige made a soft choking sound and turned away. Andy muttered something under his breath that no one caught. Blake froze, jaw slack.

Autumn didn’t move, but her breath caught halfway through her chest. She forced herself to look because that’s what she did but she wished she hadn’t. It was a body, a woman’s body.

Not real, but so meticulously arranged it may as well have been. Pork ribs formed the chest cavity, curved and spaced to mimic human anatomy. Lamb shoulders and thighs sculpted to look like limbs. Roasted apples filled the open torso where organs would have been, their caramelized skins slick with red cranberry glaze. Even the positioning was purposeful, one arm bent near the head, the legs splayed just enough to be obscene.

Autumn’s stomach turned and her throat ached. Her first instinct wasn’t intellectual, it was visceral. Every nerve screamed at her that this was wrong, that this shouldn’t exist.

Hemmingway beamed, “Ladies and gentlemen,” he declared, “I give you Caitlyn Ridgely.”

Thunder rolled so loudly it drowned out the sharp breath that escaped Autumn’s lips.

Paige whispered, “Oh my God…”

Andy pushed his chair back slightly, looking sick, “This is obscene.”

Blake leaned forward, staring, “You made her into a roast?”

“It’s art,” Hemmingway said, “A representation of tragedy reborn through culinary mastery.”

Autumn found her voice, though it trembled, “You studied the crime scene photos.”

“Of course,” he said proudly.

“You recreated them.”

Hemmingway smiled, “Authenticity matters.”

The word hit her like a slap. She blinked hard, trying to steady herself. She’d seen hundreds of bodies in her career, some worse than this but this was different. This was deliberate desecration disguised as creativity. Someone had taken what she spent her life treating with dignity and turned it into a theme.

Ruby clapped her hands, breaking the silence, “Relax, people! It’s food, a statement! We’re taking back the narrative, death as design.”

Blake’s voice was sharp, “You’re out of your mind.”

Adrianna tilted her head, eyes glinting in the candlelight, “It’s kind of genius,” she said softly.

Ruby pointed her glass at her, “See? Someone gets it.”

“It’s grotesque,” Andy muttered.

“Grotesque sells,” Ruby replied.

Paige’s voice shook, “Do you even hear yourselves?”

Hemmingway gestured to the platter, unbothered, “You all came here for immersion, consider yourselves immersed.”

Autumn finally spoke again, quieter this time, but her tone was steady now, clinical and automatic. “The ribs are human-accurate. So is the length of the femurs. The cavity… it’s anatomically sound.”

Blake turned to her, “You don’t have to analyze it.”

She looked at him, her eyes glassy, “I can’t help it.”

Hemmingway began carving, the knife gliding through the meat with sickening ease.
The sound, wet, deliberate cut through the low rumble of thunder.

Autumn flinched. Her reaction was small but real, a subtle recoil, her shoulders tightening as though the sound itself scraped at her nerves. She forced herself to watch because that’s what she’d been trained to do… observe, record, detach but her throat still burned.

Blake caught the movement, his voice dropping low, “You okay?”

“Not really,” she said, her tone was too honest to be convincing.

He nodded, just once, “Me neither.”

Hemmingway began plating, humming to himself. “Pork belly, lamb confit, apple reduction. It’s practically poetry.”

Adrianna leaned forward to take in the detail, “You should display it before serving.”

“It’s being displayed now,” Andy snapped.

Adrianna ignored him, “I mean publicly, tourists would love this.”

Paige pushed back her chair, “I think I’m going to be sick.”

Ruby sighed, “For God’s sake, it’s food, people eat worse things every day.”

“Not shaped like corpses!” Paige shot back.

Autumn set down her napkin and rubbed her temples. Her pulse thudded in her ears, fast and unsteady. “You know what bothers me most?” she said quietly, “Someone cared enough to make this beautiful.”

Ruby smiled, “Exactly! See? You do understand.”

Autumn looked at her, her expression tightening, “That wasn’t a compliment.”

Hemmingway set plates in front of them one by one, proud and expectant. “Medium rare,” he said, “Tender, smoky, symbolic.”

Blake stared at his plate like it was radioactive, “Symbolic of what? Bad taste?”

Ruby laughed, “Of resurrection! Reinvention! We’re taking tragedy and turning it into something tangible.”

“Edible,” Blake said dryly.

“Same thing,” Ruby said.

Autumn didn’t touch her fork. Her appetite had vanished completely, her stomach felt hollow and unsettled.

She kept her gaze low, but the edges of the “body” drew her eyes again and again, the way the cranberries had pooled near the curve of the ribs, the faint char pattern mimicking the color of bruising. She hated how realistic it was and she hated that her brain kept identifying the parallels.

Hemmingway noticed her untouched plate, “Doctor Henderson,” he said lightly, “you’re not eating.”

“I can’t,” she said.

He chuckled, “A scientist squeamish about a bit of roast?”

Her head lifted sharply, and for a moment, her composure cracked. “I’ve seen what people do to bodies,” she said. “I’ve catalogued what’s left after violence but this-” she gestured toward the platter, voice trembling just slightly “this is worse, because it was chosen.”

The table went silent, even Ruby didn’t have a clever response.

Thunder rolled again, closer this time. The storm had moved right over them. The windows rattled and the candles flickered.

Ruby finally broke the quiet, smiling thinly, “Well,” she said, “At least we’re evoking emotion.”

“Congratulations,” Blake muttered, “You’ve traumatized a room full of people.”

Ruby’s grin sharpened, “Don’t pretend you’re not fascinated.”

“I’m not.”

“Yes, you are. That’s why you write about death because it’s easier than living.”

He looked away, jaw clenched, “You don’t know anything about me.”

“Sure I do,” Ruby said, sipping her wine. “You all came here for the same reason. You wanted to be close to it to feel what they felt, don’t play innocent.”

Autumn cut in quietly, her voice steadier now but still soft, “You keep saying ‘they,’” she said, “But we’re not the ones who died here.”

Ruby tilted her head, “Not yet.”

It was a joke, but it landed like a threat and no one laughed.

The air had gone heavy, thick with the smell of roasted meat and rain. Paige sat stiffly, arms crossed, her glass of wine untouched. Andy stared down at his plate, expression unreadable. Crow, disturbingly serene, traced the rim of his glass with one finger, as though waiting for a cue.

Blake leaned slightly toward Autumn again, “You don’t think she’s serious, do you?”

Autumn didn’t answer at first. Her eyes were fixed on the flicker of the candles, on the distorted reflections of flame in the knife blades. “I think she likes control,” she said finally, “And she’s losing it.”

He gave a dry laugh, “Great, that’s comforting.”

Her mouth twitched, a small, involuntary smile that didn’t last long, “Comfort’s overrated.”

Ruby clinked her glass again, forcing brightness into her tone, “All right! Enough of the gloom. Let’s toast to new beginnings.”

Portia sighed but lifted her glass anyway, “To progress,” she said softly.

“To audacity,” Hemmingway added.

“To sin,” Adrianna murmured, raising hers with a smirk.

Blake hesitated before clinking his against Autumn’s, though neither of them drank. Autumn’s hand trembled slightly on the stem of her glass. She set it down before anyone noticed.

Ruby drank deeply, “Now,” she said, “let’s eat.”

No one moved. The only sound was the faint hiss of candle wicks and the muffled roar of rain against the roof.

Adrianna looked down at her plate, her eyes reflecting the dull orange light. Her expression shifted… curiosity, thrill, something darker.

“You’re all overreacting,” she said lightly, “It’s not real.”

“It looks real,” Paige said, voice thin.

Adrianna smiled faintly, “That’s what makes it fun.”

Autumn’s gaze flicked toward her, disbelief and revulsion breaking through the mask of professionalism, “Fun?” she repeated softly.

Adrianna shrugged, “Someone’s got to appreciate the effort.”

Blake muttered, “You’re not really going to-”

She picked up her fork, the metal glinting in the candlelight.

For a long moment, no one breathed. Adrianna’s fork hovered above her plate, glinting in the candlelight. The silence was a living thing… thick, waiting, watching.

Then she smiled, “All right,” she said, “let’s see what everyone’s afraid of.”

Her knife cut easily through the roasted meat. The sound, soft, tearing, slick made several people flinch. Steam curled upward, carrying the scent of apple, char, and something iron-rich underneath.

Blake leaned back, “You can’t be serious.”

Adrianna didn’t look at him. She brought the fork to her mouth, took a bite, and chewed slowly, eyes half-closed. The rest of the table watched in horrified silence.

She swallowed, exhaled, and grinned, “Oh my God, It’s amazing.”

The tension broke all at once, nervous laughter, disbelief, muttered swearing.

“You’re kidding,” Paige said, recoiling.

“Nope,” Adrianna said, “It’s perfect, sweet, smoky… decadent.”

Andy shook his head, “That’s disgusting.”

Adrianna leaned forward, “You all act like I’m eating a corpse, It’s just food.”

“Food that looks like someone,” Blake said.

“Looks being the key word,” Adrianna pointed her fork at him, “You can’t be this uptight and still claim to like true crime.”

Ruby beamed at her like a proud mother, “See? Someone gets it.”

Portia sighed, “Ruby-”

“Don’t start, Portia,” Ruby said, pouring more wine, “It’s art.”

Paige turned away, “It’s sick.”

Adrianna kept eating, humming under her breath, clearly enjoying herself.

Thunder rumbled above them, long and low. Rain streaked down the windows, blurring the red glow of the neon sign outside.

Crow spoke next, his tone almost gentle, “She’s not wrong,” he said.

Andy gave him a sharp look, “About what?”

“About what fascinates people, fear isn’t something we overcome, It’s something we feed.”

“Speak for yourself,” Blake said.

Crow smiled faintly, “I am.”

Adrianna raised her glass to him, “Cheers to feeding it.”

Blake rubbed his temples, “This feels like a social experiment gone wrong.”

“Or exactly right,” Ruby said, grinning.

Autumn stared down at her plate. The smell was rich… apple, spice, a trace of smoke but underneath it, she could smell something else, fat cooling, sauce caramelizing into something metallic. Her stomach clenched, she wanted to be composed, to detach like she always did when dealing with bodies but this wasn’t death as evidence. This was death as theater. She set down her fork, her throat tight.

Blake noticed, “You okay?”

She shook her head slightly, “It’s… revolting.”

“Yeah,” he said quietly, “But they seem to love it.”

Autumn’s gaze drifted down the table. Adrianna was taking another bite, Ruby and Crow were laughing softly, Portia was forcing a polite smile. Even Andy, after several long seconds, hesitated then reached for his fork.

“No way,” Blake said.

Andy sighed, “I’m starving and she’s right, it’s just food.”

He cut a small piece, bracing himself, and took a bite. His eyes widened, then narrowed, “God help me,” he said, “it’s actually good.”

“Of course it is,” Ruby said, smug.

Paige frowned, “You’re not serious.”

Blake groaned, “You people are unbelievable.”

“You might as well try it,” Ruby said, “Everyone else has.”

He looked down at his plate, then back at Autumn, “You?”

She shook her head immediately, “No.”

“Then neither do I,” he said, pushing his plate away.

Ruby laughed, “You’re missing out.”

Autumn exhaled slowly, trying to ground herself. The chatter around her blurred, each voice running together… Ruby’s giddy enthusiasm, Adrianna’s soft laughter, Portia’s reluctant approval. All of it made her skin crawl.

She stood abruptly, “Excuse me.”

The movement startled them.

Ruby’s smile faltered, “You all right?”

Autumn forced a steady tone, “I just need a moment.”

She crossed to the window, pressing her hand lightly against the cool glass. Outside, the storm churned, trees bowing under the wind. Lightning split the sky, flashing across her reflection… pale face, tight jaw, eyes too wide.

For a heartbeat, she saw something else behind her in the glass, the reflection of the table, the shape of the “body” spread open in the candlelight. The resemblance to a real corpse was too perfect. She shut her eyes.

Behind her, the others were still eating, hesitant at first, but then faster, conversation starting up again as if normalcy could be restored through appetite. Blake stayed quiet, his chair creaking slightly as he shifted to keep her in view.

“You’re not eating either?” Andy asked him.

“No,” Blake said, “I can't eat something like looks like a burn human.”

Lightning flared again, bleaching the room white. For a second, everything looked frozen, their faces caught mid-bite, mid-drink, mid-laughter. Then the thunder came, sharp and immediate.

Ruby raised her glass again, “To the Cold River Motel,” she said, “To tragedy turned triumph.”

“To incredible food,” Hemmingway added from the corner, glowing with pride.

Adrianna raised hers too, “And to the brave.”

Autumn turned from the window, her expression unreadable, “Bravery isn’t the word I’d use.”

Blake’s voice was low, “What would you call it?”

“Desecration,” she said simply.

It hung in the air like smoke.

Ruby’s smile froze in place, but her eyes hardened, “You know what your problem is, Autumn?”

“I have several,” she said.

“You hide behind science so you don’t have to feel anything but this-” Ruby gestured to the table, “this is pure emotion, It’s raw.”

“Raw is right,” Blake muttered.

Autumn met Ruby’s gaze evenly, “You confuse shock with substance.”

“And you confuse silence with superiority.”

“Maybe,” Autumn said softly, “But I’m still right.”

The thunder rolled again, longer this time.

Paige looked between them, anxious, “Can we stop fighting over dinner, please?”

“Sure,” Ruby said sweetly, “Eat more instead.”

The storm grew heavier, beating against the windows until the sound filled the entire room. The neon sign outside flickered through the glass, casting faint red light across the table.

The food was nearly gone. Plates sat in front of them, smeared with sauce the color of blood. The laughter had dulled to low murmurs. Even Adrianna had gone quiet, sipping her wine and smiling faintly to herself.

Autumn returned to her seat, her appetite still gone. She could feel the faint heat from the platter even from here. The image of it was burned into her mind, the way the bones curved, the glaze shining like preserved tissue. She wished she could stop seeing it, but that was the problem with her kind of memory, it didn’t fade, it filed.

Blake noticed her distant stare, “You really can’t turn it off, can you?”

She shook her head, “It’s not something you turn off.”

“Then what do you do?”

She looked at him, voice quiet, “You carry it.”

A sharp knock at the dining room door startled everyone. Three knocks, quick, clear, cutting through the sound of rain.

Portia stood immediately, “Who on earth-”

Ruby frowned, “It’s probably JP, he must have forgotten something.”

The knocking came again, louder this time.

Portia set down her napkin, “I’ll check.”

Ruby started to protest, but Portia was already moving. She opened the door and a blast of cold air swept into the room, carrying the sound of rain and wind. Two figures stood in the doorway.

An older man and woman, drenched and shivering. The man, tall and solidly built, wore a wet denim jacket with the collar pulled up. The woman, short and warm-faced, clutched a soaked tote bag against her chest.

“Evenin’,” the man said, his voice gravelly. “Sorry to intrude, our RV got stuck out there in the mud, we saw the lights.”

The woman offered a polite, apologetic smile, “We were hoping maybe we could wait out the storm somewhere dry.”

Ruby blinked, “This is a private event.”

The man tipped his head, “We can park out back once the rain lets up, don’t mean to impose.”

The woman nodded, “We won’t bother you.”

The guests exchanged uneasy glances. Adrianna leaned toward Blake, whispering, “Is this part of the show?”

Blake frowned, “If it is, it’s overkill.”

Portia stepped aside, “Come in before you drown.”

They entered carefully, leaving small puddles on the floor.

“Thank you kindly,” the man said, pulling off his cap. “I’m Floyd and this is my wife, Shirley.”

Shirley smiled faintly, “We didn’t think anyone still stayed out here, place has a reputation.”

Ruby forced a thin smile, “Lucky us.”

Floyd chuckled, “Didn’t mean nothing by it, we just saw the lights, looks like quite the dinner party.”

He glanced toward the table, at the empty plates and the grotesque centerpiece. His expression shifted, surprise, amusement, something else underneath, “That’s… somethin’.”

“It’s conceptual,” Ruby said quickly.

Shirley tilted her head, “You call it what you want, dear, I’ve seen stranger.”

Adrianna smirked, “You probably haven’t.”

Ruby ignored her, “There’s a covered spot behind the motel near the generator, you can wait there until the rain slows.”

“Appreciate it,” Floyd said, “Storm came outta nowhere.”

“Yeah,” Ruby muttered. “That tends to happen here.”

Shirley smiled again, that same polite, knowing curve, “Pretty place, though. Feels… familiar.”

Autumn’s head lifted slightly at that, something quiet flickering behind her eyes.

Floyd nodded, “Well, we won’t trouble you longer, thanks for the kindness.”

When the door closed behind them, the silence returned heavier than before.

Hemmingway cleared his throat awkwardly, “So… dessert?”

No one answered. Outside, thunder rolled again, shaking the windows.

Adrianna leaned back, finishing her wine with a satisfied sigh, “You all can moralize as much as you want,” she said, “It was delicious.”

Portia stood abruptly, “Dinner’s over.”

Ruby raised her glass in lazy defiance, “Speak for yourself.”

Autumn’s gaze stayed fixed on the doorway, her voice low, “Something’s changed.”

Blake followed her eyes, “What do you mean?”

She hesitated, then said softly, “We’re not alone anymore.”

The candles flickered and the storm howled outside and somewhere down the hall, a door creaked open… very slowly.

Chapter Text

Rain lashed against the windows, wind groaning through the trees. The neon sign outside flickered like a dying ember, COLD RIVER MOTEL pulsing in red and white over the storm.

Ruby leaned on the reception counter, eyes bright, “So,” she said, grinning, “who wants a tour?”

The tableful of grim faces from dinner had changed. The grotesque meal, the wine, the thunder, all of it had given the night a strange charge. Curiosity had replaced discomfort.

Adrianna was the first to stand, glass still in hand, “I thought you’d never ask.”

Blake looked up, half a smirk tugging at his mouth, “You’re serious?”

“Completely,” Adrianna said, “If I’m sleeping in a murder motel, I’m getting my money’s worth.”

Even Andy, who had been quiet through most of dinner, gave a small shrug, “Might as well see what all the fuss is about.”

Autumn stood too, surprising herself, “I’ve read the reports a hundred times,” she said. “But seeing it in person? That’s… different.”

Ruby’s grin widened “That’s the spirit, Doctor.”

Paige groaned softly “You people are insane.”

“Correction,” Ruby said “We’re curious.”

Paige hesitated, then sighed “Fine but if something jumps out, I’m swear.”

“Perfect,” Ruby said “Follow me.”

Portia passed out flashlights from behind the counter, the beams cutting thin lines through the dim lobby. “Stay close,” she said “Power’s spotty during storms.”

Blake clicked his on, the light trembling in his hand “What are we actually looking at?”

Ruby gave him a sly look “The past.”

They started up the stairs first, feet thudding softly against the worn steps. The smell of polish and damp wood mixed with the faint scent of rain drifting in through a cracked window.

The second floor was long and narrow, lined with identical doors painted black. Silver plaques gleamed beside each, engraved with quotes from Dante’s Inferno.

Adrianna swept her light along the walls, reading aloud “Abandon all hope, ye who enter here.” She laughed “God, this is amazing.”

Blake snorted “You’re the only person I know who says that about hell.”

Paige trailed behind, her flashlight beam shaking slightly. “I filmed a scene like this once, they made the walls red to match the blood effects.”

“Don’t give Ruby ideas,” Portia said.

Ruby smiled innocently “Too late.”

Autumn moved slowly, studying the hallway, “It’s strange,” she said softly. “In the photos, this place looked so small but here it feels… alive.”

Andy nodded “Spaces change when you fill them with meaning or fear.”

Blake glanced back “That supposed to sound comforting?”

“Not particularly,” Andy said.

They stopped at the end of the hallway, where an old photograph hung framed on the wall. Ruby raised her flashlight and beamed. “This,” she said proudly, “is the original corridor photo from the investigation, taken the night of the killings.”

The image was grainy, dark, edges flaring from the flash, a narrow hallway, an outline on the floor.

Adrianna whistled softly “You can almost feel it.”

“Or smell it,” Blake muttered.

Paige frowned “You’re proud of this?”

Ruby grinned “Of course I am. People spend their whole lives running from darkness. I just gave it a spotlight.”

Portia rolled her eyes “Ignore her, she loves attention.”

“I love honesty,” Ruby said, “And this place is honest.”

Autumn tilted her head, flashlight beam gliding across the photo. “It’s fascinating,” she admitted, “The geometry of it, the way violence imprints itself in space. You can feel where the energy shifted.”

Blake chuckled “You sound like Crow.”

“Maybe he’s onto something,” she said, half smiling.

They continued down the hall, the storm rumbling above them. The plaques gleamed in their lights, phrases like “All hope abandon” and “Through me you pass into eternal pain” flashing by like chapter titles.

Adrianna reached out to trace one with her fingertip, “These are perfect, I need a photo.”

Portia sighed, “You can take as many as you want after the tour.”

“Promise?”

“Within reason.”

Blake lifted his phone, snapping one anyway, “For research,” he said.

“Sure,” Ruby replied, “Keep telling yourself that.”

Back in the lobby, the group gathered around the narrow door tucked behind the front desk. It was half-hidden, its handle rusted and old.

Ruby jingled a set of keys dramatically, “and now,” she said, “for the basement.”

Paige groaned “Of course there’s a basement.”

“There’s always a basement,” Adrianna said, grinning.

Blake leaned on the railing “What’s actually down there?”

Portia answered this time “The True Crime Experience, we finished setting it up last month.”

“That sounds… horrifying,” Blake said.

“That’s the point,” Ruby said.

Autumn’s eyes lit up “You recreated the scenes?”

Ruby nodded “Where possible, yes. Some of the photos are copies from the original files.”

Blake looked at her “And you got clearance for that?”

Ruby smirked “Let’s call it artistic license.”

They descended the narrow stairs one by one, flashlights bobbing through the darkness. The air grew colder, thicker, carrying the faint scent of damp stone and something faintly metallic.

Adrianna spoke softly, her voice echoing “I love this, It feels like we’re sneaking into a secret.”

“Or a crime scene,” Paige said under her breath.

“Same thing,” Adrianna replied.

Autumn smiled faintly “You’re not wrong.”

Blake, just ahead of her, chuckled “You sound way too calm about that.”

She shrugged “I deal with the dead for a living, this is practically sightseeing.”

“Creepy sightseeing,” he said.

“Is there another kind?”

The basement walls were stone, the floor uneven concrete. Their flashlights cut across exposed pipes and framed photographs hung with careful precision.

Portia stepped ahead, sweeping her beam along the walls. “We divided the space into sections,” she said “Each one tells a piece of the story.”

Ruby spun in a slow circle, arms wide “Welcome to the Cold River Archive!”

The group spread out, curiosity overtaking hesitation. Autumn drifted toward the nearest wall of photos. They were black and white, framed in thick glass. One showed a motel room bed stripped bare, another, a cracked mirror above a sink. Each caption listed the victim, time of death, and cause.

She leaned closer, breath catching slightly “These are… detailed.”

“They’re official copies,” Portia said “Most people find them too intense, but they’re historically accurate.”

Autumn’s voice was quiet but admiring “You’ve curated this beautifully.”

Ruby grinned “See? She appreciates the craft.”

Blake stood beside her, tilting his head “You really do find beauty everywhere, don’t you?”

She smiled “If you don’t, someone else will.”

Crow lingered near the corner, studying the layout “They’ve built a shrine,” he said softly.

Andy looked at him “You say that like it’s a compliment.”

“It depends on who’s listening,” Crow replied.

Paige trailed behind them, flashlight shaking slightly. When she passed a framed newspaper clipping — SATANIC MASS MURDER AT COLD RIVER — she stopped. “They really kept all of this,” she whispered.

Ruby walked up beside her “Some things don’t need to be forgotten.”

Paige gave a nervous laugh “Or maybe they do.”

Ruby smirked “You’re just saying that because you played her.”

Paige stiffened “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Caitlyn Ridgely,” Ruby said, shrugging. “You played her in the movie, you already brought her back once.”

“That was acting,” Paige said.

“Maybe tonight’s an encore,” Ruby teased.

Autumn frowned “That’s enough, Ruby.”

Ruby raised her hands, pretending innocence “Relax, it’s a compliment.”

They reached the far end of the basement where the lights shifted from yellow to a cooler white. A glass case stood against the wall, faintly fogged from condensation. Inside, resting on a wooden base, was the pentagram.

The original one, everyone moved closer, drawn to it. The symbol was painted on old floorboards, the wood darkened and splintered with age. The lines were still visible… thick, uneven, faded to a reddish brown that looked too organic to be paint.

Andy knelt slightly to get a better look “That’s the real one?”

Portia nodded “Recovered from storage.”

Blake’s voice lowered “That’s… incredible.”

Ruby smiled proudly “I know, people love authenticity.”

Autumn stepped closer, eyes tracing the pattern. Her voice softened, full of reluctant awe, “You can feel it.”

Blake looked at her “Feel what?”

“The weight,” she said “Like it remembers.”

He watched her quietly, the glow of her flashlight reflected in her eyes, “You really believe that?”

She hesitated “I don’t know but I want to.”

Adrianna crouched next to Andy, her grin mischievous. “Imagine what it was like down here that night,” she said. “Candles, chanting, blood, everything soaked in adrenaline.”

Paige turned away “You’re enjoying this way too much.”

“It's addictive, the fear, it's a turn on,” Adrianna said.

Ruby laughed “Exactly, this is the heart of it all, the room where Caitlyn was-”

Portia cut her off quickly “Where the murders ended,” she said.

Ruby smiled tightly “Right, where it ended.”

The group fell silent for a moment. The storm above seemed to press closer, thunder vibrating faintly through the ceiling.

Then Blake spoke “So this is where she died.”

“Was sacrificed,” Ruby corrected “Big difference.”

Autumn glanced at her “Not to her.”

They lingered there longer than intended, each person caught by something different. Andy stayed near a portrait of Caitlyn, his flashlight beam hovering over her face, a young woman smiling shyly at the camera. Her eyes were kind, open, ordinary.

Autumn approached quietly “You okay?”

He nodded without looking at her “Yeah.”

“You sure?”

He gave a small smile “It’s just strange, she looks so… alive.”

Autumn followed his gaze “She was.”

He exhaled “Yeah.”

For a moment, neither of them spoke. The soft hum of the overhead light filled the silence.

Then Ruby’s voice echoed from across the room, cutting through the stillness. “All right, everyone!” she called “One more stop before the fun really begins.”

Blake looked up, arching a brow “Define fun.”

Ruby winked “You’ll see.”

They followed her toward a narrow corridor leading deeper underground. The air grew colder with each step, the scent of damp stone replacing the faint tang of cleaning supplies. Their flashlights jittered along the walls, catching glints of old nails, pipes, and peeling paint.

Autumn’s heart quickened, not from fear, but anticipation. Every creak, every echo felt like a pulse, the space itself alive with history.

Blake’s voice drifted from just ahead “You realize this is insane, right?”

“Completely,” she said, smiling faintly.

He glanced over his shoulder, “And you’re still enjoying it.”

“I am.”

He laughed softly “Good to know we’re both doomed.”

At the bottom of the next flight of steps stood a wide steel door. Ruby stopped in front of it, her grin widening “Here we are,” she said.

Portia’s voice lowered “Be respectful when we go in. This is the last part of the original structure.”

Blake raised his flashlight “What’s in there?”

Ruby looked back at him, her eyes bright with excitement. “The basement, the real one, the floor where Caitlyn’s pentagram was found.”

A ripple of quiet moved through the group. Even Adrianna, for once, looked a little awed. The sound of rain above seemed to fade, replaced by the steady hum of the generator outside. Autumn drew in a slow breath, her pulse steadying.

Ruby pushed the door open. A low groan echoed through the hallway, followed by a draft of cold, stale air that smelled faintly of dust and something metallic.

“Welcome,” Ruby said, her voice echoing off the stone “To where it all happened.”

The group stood at the threshold, flashlights cutting through the dark. The room stretched out before them, wide, shadowed, silent.

Blake whispered, “This is unreal.”

Autumn’s eyes caught the faint shape of the floor ahead, the hint of markings half-buried beneath dust and time. “No,” she said softly, “This is history.”

Ruby grinned, stepping aside “Then step into it.”

They did and the basement swallowed sound. When the steel door closed behind them, even the storm became distant, just a low, rhythmic pulse above their heads. The air was cold and dense, carrying the faint smell of rust and old wood. Their flashlights carved weak circles into the dark, revealing brick walls slick with condensation and a floor of cracked concrete that dipped unevenly toward the center.

Ruby’s voice broke the silence first, low and theatrical “This,” she said, “is where the story ends.”

Adrianna swept her beam across the room, her expression one of delighted awe. “It’s perfect,” she said softly “Like a stage set.”

Blake gave a low whistle “You really love calling everything art, don’t you?”

“Because it is,” she said, turning to him “You just don’t know how to look at it.”

Paige lingered near the stairs, her flashlight trembling slightly “It’s freezing down here.”

Portia adjusted the dial on her lantern, flooding the space with a dim amber glow. “The walls trap moisture,” she said “It always feels like this.”

“Charming,” Blake muttered.

Ruby ignored him, stepping forward until she stood near the middle of the room. “Right about here,” she said, gesturing to a faintly visible circle on the floor, “is where they found the pentagram.”

Autumn approached, crouching slightly. The shape was faint, half scrubbed away, barely more than discolored streaks now but she could still make out the outline of the star’s edges, the faint residue of paint clinging in the cracks.

“It’s smaller than I expected,” she said.

Ruby smirked “That’s what happens when you mythologize something, It grows.”

Blake knelt beside her, shining his flashlight at the markings “You really think this is the original?”

Portia nodded “We tested the wood, It’s authentic. They cut the section out of the floor upstairs and reinstalled it here when they rebuilt.”

“Why?” Blake asked.

“Because people like you pay to see it,” Ruby said.

He gave her a look “You could’ve just said marketing.”

“Same thing,” she said, smiling.

The group fanned out, their lights moving like slow fireflies. Adrianna examined a wall where old photos had been mounted, crime scene images blown up and labeled with the victims’ names. She tilted her head, studying one that showed a figure partially hidden beneath a bedsheet.

“Morbid, but beautiful,” she said.

Andy joined her, his tone dry “You keep saying that word.”

“Because it fits,” she replied “There’s beauty in aftermath.”

“Not for them,” he said.

She shrugged, unfazed “You think anyone here died without wanting to be remembered? We’re honoring them.”

Autumn’s voice came from across the room “You’re romanticizing them.”

Adrianna smiled “Isn’t that what everyone does when they talk about the dead?”

No one answered.

Blake moved toward a display of evidence items encased in glass: a key ring, a burned matchbook, a rusted chain. Each one was labeled with neat white tags, the fragments of a story reduced to artifacts.

He glanced at Autumn, who was still crouched over the floor “You ever get tired of looking at this stuff?”

She thought for a moment before answering “No but sometimes I hate that I don’t.”

He nodded slowly “Yeah, I get that.”

She stood, brushing her palms against her jeans. “Places like this… they’re traps. They pull you in under the guise of understanding, and before you know it, you’re part of the audience.”

“Then why come?” he asked.

She looked at him “To remind myself why I started.”

Their eyes held for a second longer than necessary before Ruby’s voice called out again.

“Over here!” she said “You’re going to love this.”

They gathered near a row of framed newspaper clippings. The headlines glared under the flashlight beams, SATANIC SLAUGHTER AT COLD RIVER, POLICE BAFFLED BY MISSING HEART, RUMORS OF CULT ACTIVITY SPREAD.

Portia adjusted her glasses, her tone carefully measured. “Most of these are sensationalized, of course.”

Ruby smiled “But it sounds good, doesn’t it?”

Paige muttered, “You should run a PR firm for serial killers.”

“Don’t tempt me,” Ruby said.

Crow stepped closer to the clippings, fingertips brushing the frame. “They always said the air down here felt heavy. You can feel it now, can’t you? Like the walls still remember what happened.”

Andy groaned “Please tell me we’re not doing the ghost thing.”

Crow smiled faintly “Not ghosts, echoes.”

Blake muttered, “Here we go.”

Autumn didn’t interrupt him this time. She stood quietly, her eyes half-closed as if trying to imagine the layout, the placement of bodies, the investigators, the camera flashes. “It’s strange,” she said softly “Everything that made this tragic is gone. All that’s left are the outlines.”

Crow turned toward her “Maybe that’s all any of us leave behind.”

“Poetic,” Blake said “Morbidly so.”

Crow smiled “Morbid’s the only honest language.”

They moved deeper into the room. The generator hummed faintly through the floorboards above, the rhythm blending with the rain.

Autumn ran her hand lightly along the stone wall. The texture was rough, cold against her fingertips. “This part feels untouched,” she said “Like they just built around it.”

“They did,” Portia said “Ruby wanted authenticity.”

Ruby grinned “You can’t fake atmosphere, you have to let the place breathe.”

Blake smirked “Or suffocate.”

Portia ignored him “We sealed off the old tunnels that connect to the foundation, too unstable to open again.”

“Tunnels?” Adrianna perked up “What tunnels?”

“Maintenance access,” Portia said. “There used to be crawlspaces that ran under the rooms, they were filled in after the investigation.”

Ruby leaned closer to her wife, “Or were they?”

“Ruby,” Portia warned.

“What? They love this stuff.”

“Not when it’s supposed to be safe.”

Blake chuckled “Define safe.”

The group’s mood shifted gradually from nervousness to fascination. They began to linger, to touch the walls, to whisper theories and bits of trivia to each other.

Adrianna wandered between the photo displays with the same excitement she’d shown at dinner, snapping pictures on her phone. “You can practically feel the tension frozen in here,” she said “Like the moment before a scream.”

Andy smirked faintly “That’s one way to put it.”

Paige stood near a glass case containing an old motel key labeled 'Room 13'. Her expression softened “This was hers?”

Portia nodded “Caitlyn Ridgely’s, where her new husband was killed.”

Paige traced a finger along the glass “I wore a replica of that in the movie, the prop department made it lighter so it wouldn’t clink on the mic, funny the things you remember.”

Autumn approached her gently “Does being here bring any of it back?”

Paige exhaled slowly “Some of it, mostly how much I didn’t understand what I was playing. It was just lines then. Now it feels…” She stopped, shaking her head “Too real.”

Autumn nodded “Maybe that’s empathy catching up.”

Paige gave a small smile “Maybe.”

On the far side of the room, Crow was studying the pentagram. He crouched low, flashlight angled across the surface. “Look at the lines,” he said softly “So deliberate, like someone believed this would mean something.”

Blake joined him, skeptical “Or like someone was pretending to.”

Crow looked up, amused “Pretending and believing aren’t that different.”

“That’s your motto, isn’t it?”

Crow smiled “You say that like it’s an insult.”

Ruby leaned against the wall, arms folded “I love this guy.”

Portia sighed quietly “Please don’t encourage him.”

Autumn crouched near the pentagram beside Crow, her own flashlight steady. She studied the texture of the floor, the way the markings bled into the wood grain. “It’s not painted on top,” she said “It’s absorbed.”

Crow’s eyes lit up “Exactly, It’s soaked in.”

Blake snorted “You two are terrifying.”

“Observant,” Autumn corrected.

Ruby tilted her head “You sound almost excited, Doctor.”

Autumn smiled faintly “Maybe I am, It’s not every day you stand inside a story that refuses to die.”

Blake looked at her with mild amusement “You’re starting to sound like Ruby.”

“That’s what happens when you spend too much time near spectacle,” she said “It rubs off.”

Ruby laughed “You’re welcome.”

Portia glanced at her watch “All right, everyone. It’s late, let’s wrap this up before the storm cuts the power completely.”

“Wait,” Adrianna said “We didn’t see everything yet.”

“We did,” Portia said “The rest of the basement is storage.”

Crow straightened “You’re skipping the important part.”

Ruby frowned “What important part?”

Crow smiled “The energy, the conversation that never ended.”

Blake groaned “Don’t say it.”

Crow ignored him “I think we should try to speak to her, to Caitlyn.”

Paige froze “What?”

“A séance,” Crow said simply “Not a parody, not a game, a genuine attempt to reach her.”

Portia looked horrified “Absolutely not.”

Ruby, however, looked intrigued “You mean tonight?”

“Yes,” Crow said “It’s the 30th anniversary. If ever there was a night she’d listen, it’s this one.”

Andy folded his arms “That’s ridiculous.”

“Ridiculous doesn’t mean wrong,” Crow said, his tone calm.

Blake pinched the bridge of his nose “You’re unbelievable.”

Crow smiled faintly “thank you.”

Adrianna grinned “I think it sounds fun.”

“Of course you do,” Blake said.

She shrugged “Come on, you can’t buy atmosphere like this.”

Ruby tapped her chin thoughtfully “Actually…”

“Don’t even think about it,” Portia warned.

“Relax,” Ruby said “It could be good press. Imagine it, séance in the original murder basement, viral gold.”

Paige looked ill “Can you not?”

Crow turned toward her “You should join, Paige, you were her once.”

Paige blinked “Excuse me?”

“In the movie,” he said “You played Caitlyn. You gave her a voice, you could give it back for one night.”

“That’s manipulative,” Autumn said sharply.

Crow smiled gently “It’s an invitation.”

Paige laughed nervously “You think I want to pretend to be her here? In the place she actually died?”

Crow tilted his head “That’s why it matters.”

“Hard pass,” she said.

Adrianna leaned closer “Come on, it’ll be fun, you don’t have to believe it.”

Paige looked around at the faces watching her, Ruby’s eager grin, Crow’s quiet conviction, even Portia’s weary exasperation. Finally, her gaze landed on Autumn.

Autumn said softly, “You don’t owe anyone that.”

Paige nodded gratefully “Thank you.”

Crow didn’t look disappointed. He just smiled, eyes distant, as if already imagining it “The dead never ask,” he said “They just wait.”

“Enough,” Portia said, her tone sharper now. “This isn’t a carnival act, we came down here to show history, not to exploit it.”

Ruby smirked “You say that like they’re different things.”

“Sometimes they are,” Autumn said quietly.

Portia exhaled “The tour’s over, everyone back upstairs.”

No one moved at first.

Blake glanced at Autumn, then at Ruby "Guess that’s our cue.”

Ruby sighed dramatically “Fine but you’re all coming back tomorrow, this is too good to waste.”

Crow chuckled softly “Tomorrow, tonight, the dead keep their own time.”

Paige muttered, “I’m going to need another drink.”

Andy gestured toward the stairs “Let’s move before this turns into an argument about ghosts.”

“Or marketing,” Blake added.

“That too.”

They began the slow climb back up. The narrow staircase creaked under their weight, the light from their flashlights bouncing across the rough stone. The air warmed as they reached the first landing, the hum of the generator louder again.

Autumn was last, her flashlight steady on the steps. Halfway up, she paused, glancing back at the open basement door below, the faint outline of the pentagram just visible in the dim light.

She didn’t believe in ghosts, she believed in memory, in the way tragedy left traces on people, not places. Still, something about standing down there had made her heart race not from fear, but from understanding.

Blake waited for her at the top of the stairs “You good?”

She nodded “Just thinking.”

“Dangerous habit,” he said.

She smiled “Maybe but it’s why we’re here.”

He held the door open for her, and together they stepped back into the warmer glow of the motel’s main floor. The storm had quieted to a soft drizzle, the neon light pulsing red across the windowpane.

Ruby’s voice echoed behind them as she spoke to Portia “Tomorrow,” she said, “we’ll make history come alive.”

Portia sighed “Let’s hope that’s all it does.”

Autumn glanced once more toward the basement door before walking away, the faint echo of their footsteps fading into the hum of the motel.

Chapter Text

The storm hadn’t stopped since the tour. Rain hammered the roof in a steady, relentless rhythm, rattling the windows and washing the neon sign’s glow across the motel’s façade. COLD RIVER MOTEL flickered red and white, its reflection pulsing in the puddles of the parking lot below.

Inside the group broke apart, scattering into their rooms like fragments of a conversation that had gone on too long.

Autumn lingered last in the hall. Ruby had vanished into her suite to “take notes for tomorrow’s programming,” as she called it, and Portia had trailed behind her with a tight expression that said she didn’t want to be part of it. Adrianna had already announced she was “too wired to sit still” but disappeared into her room anyway. Andy carried his camera and notebook down the corridor, mumbling about documentation. Crow smiled vaguely at nothing and whispered something about energy lingering in the air before closing his door.

That left Autumn and Blake.

He leaned against the wall near his room, arms folded, watching her fumble with her key. “You look like you’ve seen something that intrigues you,” he said.

She smiled faintly “I think we all did.”

He tilted his head “and yet you liked it.”

“Liked isn’t the word” She paused “But it was fascinating. You don’t get to stand inside history like that every day.”

He grinned “You say that like you just visited a museum, not a murder basement.”

Autumn opened her door “In a way, they’re the same thing.”

Blake’s grin widened “You’re more morbid than you look.”

She laughed quietly “You’re more perceptive than you act.”

“Flattery at this hour? Dangerous game.”

She shook her head, stepping inside “Goodnight, Blake.”

“Night, Doc,” he said, his voice trailing as she shut the door.

The room felt smaller with the rain pressing against the glass.

Autumn turned on the lamp beside the bed, soft light spreading across the wooden walls and casting a honey-colored glow on the ceiling. The faint scent of varnish and old linen filled the air, mingling with the damp smell creeping through the window frame.

She kicked off her shoes and sat on the edge of the bed, running her fingers along the quilt’s stitching. The hum of the generator below vibrated faintly through the floorboards, a heartbeat rhythm beneath the rain.

Her mind kept circling back to the tour. The basement’s walls, the photographs, the careful way Ruby had positioned every object. It had been theatrical, yes, but meticulously so. She could still feel the chill from that place in her bones.

Part of her wanted to admire the curation. Another part wanted to scrub the entire building clean.She stood, unzipping her suitcase. The motions helped, one thing at a time. Clothes, notebook, flashlight, toothbrush.

Routine was control and control kept her calm. By the time she’d unpacked, the rain had grown heavier. The lamp flickered once but steadied, Autumn moved to the window.

Outside, the parking lot shimmered like a mirror, the rain breaking the reflection of the neon sign into jagged shards. Beyond it, the dark outline of the woods swayed under the wind.

The Dantrees’ RV sat parked near the treeline, headlights off, its metal siding glistening with water. A faint interior glow pulsed from behind the curtains, soft, intermittent, like someone moving around inside. She found herself staring longer than she meant to.

Somewhere down the hall, a door clicked open.

Blake’s voice drifted in, muffled but close “Still awake?”

Autumn turned, smiling as he appeared in the doorway, which she had left cracked open, barefoot and holding a mug. “Apparently so,” she said.

He stepped in and offered her the mug “Hot chocolate, don’t get too excited, it’s from the lobby machine.”

She took it, surprised “Thanks.”

He shrugged “You looked like you were thinking too loud.”

She laughed softly and raised a teasing eyebrow, “Is that a complaint?”

“Observation” He leaned against the wall near the window “So, what’s got you so focused?”

“The Dantrees,” she said, gesturing with her chin toward the window “They’re still awake.”

Blake peered out “Huh, probably waiting for the storm to die down or planning to kill Ruby.”

Autumn smiled faintly “I wouldn’t blame them.”

He turned back to her “You think they’re weird?”

“No,” she said “Just… out of place. Everyone here seems obsessed with the story. They seem like the only ones who wandered in by accident.”

“Maybe they did,” he said “Or maybe that’s the best cover of all.”

She gave him a look “You sound like Ruby.”

“God forbid,” he said quickly, grinning.

They fell into silence again, watching the rain. The quiet was strange, comfortable and charged at the same time.

Autumn sipped the hot chocolate, it was watery and too sweet, but the warmth helped.

“You think you’ll be able to sleep?” Blake asked.

“I’ll try.”

“Not haunted?”

“By Ruby? Maybe.”

He laughed softly, rubbing his eyes “You ever get the feeling this place wants to be famous again?”

“Or maybe it never stopped being,” she said “We just keep giving it attention.”

He nodded, thoughtful “Maybe that’s why everyone came, to feel close to something they can’t fix.”

She tilted her head “Including you?”

He hesitated “Maybe” Then, with a small smile, “You’re good at turning conversations around.”

“Occupational… sorry.” She stopped herself, remembering how he’d teased her earlier for the phrase, “Habit.”

He laughed “Better.”

She smiled “Goodnight, Blake.”

“Yeah,” he said, heading toward the door “You too, Doc.”

"Autumn"

He turned back for a moment and nodded giving a small smile, something flickered across his face. Like for a moment something seemed familiar and he couldn't quite place what, after a beat he repeated "Autumn."

When the door shut, Autumn was left with the sound of rain again. She stood by the window a while longer. The parking lot glowed red, then dimmed as lightning flashed somewhere far behind the hills.

The RV’s small light still burned. Through the rain-streaked glass, she thought she saw a shadow move across the interior, someone passing between the curtains. She couldn’t tell if it was Floyd or Shirley.

She set her empty mug down on the nightstand, leaning closer to the window. It was strange how alive the world looked in a storm. The reflections, the motion, the blur of light and dark, it all felt suspended, like time had slowed down to let her watch it.

She traced a raindrop with her finger as it slid down the glass, dividing into smaller paths before vanishing at the bottom. Her eyes drifted back to the RV, the door opened.

A figure stepped out, hood pulled tight, shoulders hunched against the rain. Even through the blur, Autumn recognized the small frame and the pale hair, Paige. Autumn blinked, straightening.

The younger woman moved quickly, one hand shielding her face as she ran the short distance to the RV steps. Her jacket clung to her in the downpour. She knocked once, then again. The door opened, letting out a rectangle of soft, yellow light. Paige disappeared inside, the door closed behind her.

Autumn frowned slightly, her palm still pressed against the cold glass.

“What are you doing out there?” she murmured.

The rain beat harder, a steady drumming against the roof and windowpanes. The RV stayed lit, faint silhouettes moving inside. Autumn kept watching, waiting for the door to open again. It didn’t.

She turned back toward her bed but couldn’t shake the unease curling in her stomach. Paige had looked nervous all evening, pale and tense through the entire tour. Maybe she’d gone to ask the Dantrees something or maybe she was just tired of Ruby’s theatrics.

It wasn’t unreasonable, the older couple seemed kind enough, grounded in a way the rest of them weren’t. Still, something about the secrecy of it made Autumn uneasy.

She told herself to stop watching. To sit down, turn off the lamp, and let the rain do what it was supposed to wash away the day’s heaviness but she stayed by the window anyway, her reflection faint in the glass, eyes fixed on that dim light at the far end of the lot.

The lamp beside her flickered again. Outside, the storm swelled, wind bending the trees near the forest’s edge. Autumn pressed her lips together, waiting. The RV light flickered once, then steadied. She leaned closer to the glass.

Rain pressed against the motel windows like static, soft at first and then relentless. The sound filled Autumn’s room, drumming on the glass and the roof above like thousands of fingers tapping in rhythm. She stood near the window, still watching the Dantrees’ RV. The faint yellow light inside glowed like a single ember in a sea of black. It should have been comforting, but it wasn’t.

Paige had gone in nearly fifteen minutes ago.

Autumn told herself to stop staring, it wasn’t her business why Paige had gone there. Still, she lingered. The others were settling into their rooms, the building quiet except for the hiss of rain and the occasional groan of plumbing. Somewhere down the hall Adrianna was laughing at something, and Blake’s muffled voice drifted faintly through the wall, talking to himself or maybe recording notes but here, in her room, there was only the hum of the storm. When the RV door finally opened, Autumn leaned closer.

Paige stepped out, shoulders hunched, her hood pulled up against the rain. She turned to say something into the doorway, nodded once, then hurried down the small steps. The door closed behind her, leaving her alone under the neon reflection of the motel sign.

Autumn exhaled, her breath fogging the glass. “All right,” she whispered, mostly to herself “Just get inside.”

Outside, Paige adjusted her coat and started toward the motel. Her small flashlight beam trembled as she moved, a narrow cone of light swallowed by the rain.

For a few seconds, everything seemed fine, then Paige stopped. Her light tilted toward the edge of the woods.

Autumn squinted through the blur of water on the glass. She couldn’t see what Paige was looking at, only the faint outline of trees swaying in the wind. Then, between the trunks, a darker shape detached itself from the shadows. Tall, broad, horns curling upward from its head. Autumn froze.

Paige staggered back, flashlight jerking wildly. The light flashed across the figure for only a heartbeat, catching slick black fabric and the curved outline of a white horned mask.

Then the thing moved, fast, it charged. Paige’s scream tore through the storm, sharp and desperate. Autumn didn’t think, she bolted.

The chair clattered backward as she ran for the door. “Someone’s outside!” she shouted, voice breaking against the walls. Her door slammed open into the hall.

Blake’s voice came first “Autumn?”

She didn’t stop “Paige, she’s outside, something’s chasing her!”

Andy stumbled out of his room, barefoot “What are you talking about?”

Kawayan appeared next, sketchbook still in hand, eyes wide “Wait, chasing her? Like what?”

Adrianna leaned against her doorway, eyes wide with something that looked like a mix of confusion and excitement “You saw this?”

Autumn’s voice cracked “I heard her scream!”

Crow stepped out last, calm as always, like a man walking into a dream. “The storm’s thick tonight,” he said softly “It stirs things.”

“Not now!” Blake barked.

Autumn was already running, her footsteps pounding down the hall, “She’s out there in the rain!”

The lobby lights flickered as they reached the bottom.

Autumn shoved open the front door and the storm hit like a wall. Cold air, water, wind, everything at once. The neon sign bled red across the lot, its reflection shivering in puddles.

“Paige!” Autumn yelled into the storm.

No response. Blake followed close behind her, pulling his jacket over his head. Andy, Adrianna, Kawayan, and Crow spilled out after them, flashlights snapping on one by one, their beams slicing through the downpour.

“Where?” Blake shouted.

Autumn pointed toward the far end of the parking lot “By the RV! That’s where I saw her!”

They splashed forward together, half blind in the rain. The wind made it hard to breathe, cold needles pricking every bit of exposed skin.

Lightning cracked overhead, bleaching everything white for a heartbeat.

For that single flash, they saw movement, Paige sprinting across the far end of the lot, her flashlight bouncing wildly and behind her, the horned figure running after her on long, bounding strides.

“Oh my God,” Adrianna whispered.

Autumn’s stomach dropped “Move!”

They ran, water splashed up to their knees, shoes slipping against the slick asphalt.

“Paige!” Autumn screamed again.

Her voice vanished into the roar of rain. Ahead, Paige veered toward the trees, her flashlight beam jerking and then disappearing entirely. The horned figure followed, its black coat whipping behind it like wings.

“Jesus Christ!” Blake gasped, trying to keep up.

Kawayan lifted his camera instinctively, snapping blurred photos through the storm “This is insane!”

“Put that thing down!” Andy barked, grabbing his arm.

Crow lagged slightly behind, whispering something Autumn couldn’t hear a low chant, maybe, or just his own way of calming himself. They reached the edge of the woods, flashlights cutting through mist and rain.

“Paige!” Autumn yelled again “Answer me!”

The only reply was the wind, inside the trees, the air was heavier. The rain thinned but dripped in sheets from the branches above, forming a constant hiss.

Blake stumbled over a root, catching himself on a tree trunk “This is insane! What the hell even is that thing?”

Autumn shook her head, scanning the dark “Some kind of costume.”

“Who the hell runs around like that in a storm?”

“Someone who knew she’d be out here,” she said.

Lightning flashed again, closer now, and thunder rolled immediately after. The flash caught motion just ahead: a figure running, smaller, panicked. Paige.

Autumn broke into a sprint “Paige!”

Paige turned, eyes wild, her face lit briefly by the next flash “Help me!” she screamed.

Behind her, the horned shape lunged. The black fabric gleamed wetly, the white mask grinning beneath the curve of the horns. Paige shrieked again, tripping over a fallen branch and hitting the ground hard.

Autumn’s breath caught in her throat “No-”

She started forward but then something strange pierced through the noise. A faint, rhythmic click, it didn’t belong to the rain, it came from behind the trees.

Portia, half hidden beneath an umbrella, watched through her phone’s camera lens. Her hands were shaking, both from the cold and from nerves, but the footage was perfect. Paige’s terrified sprint, the dark silhouette pursuing her, the flashes of lightning illuminating everything in cinematic bursts. The shot would cut beautifully with the basement footage.

Ruby had begged her for help “Just one quick scene,” she’d said. “A little atmospheric B-roll, the audience loves authenticity.” So Portia had agreed, reluctantly. She told herself it was for marketing, not cruelty. That they’d laugh about it after but now, through the camera, Paige’s terror didn’t look performative. It looked real.

Portia swallowed hard, voice low into the phone “You got it, Ruby, just wrap it up.”

Ruby didn’t answer, she was too deep in the act, chasing Paige through the mud, her laughter hidden under the storm. Portia flinched as Paige screamed again.

“This was supposed to be funny,” she whispered.

Out in the woods, Autumn and Blake crashed through the undergrowth, flashlights jerking wildly. They heard footsteps ahead, rapid, splashing, circling. Then a cry of pain, Paige’s voice.

“Paige!” Autumn shouted.

Lightning exploded overhead, freezing the world in white. Paige was on the ground, struggling to get up. The horned figure stood over her, one gloved hand raised. Autumn’s heart nearly stopped, then the figure laughed. The sound was unmistakable even through the distortion of the storm, Ruby’s voice, bright and manic.

“Smile for the camera, sweetheart!”

Blake froze beside her “What the hell-”

But before they could process it, Ruby yanked off the mask. Her hair clung to her forehead, soaked and stringy, and her grin was wide enough to gleam under the lightning.

“Relax!” she shouted over the rain “It’s a prank!”

Paige didn’t respond, she just stared at her, chest heaving, mud streaked up her arms.

Ruby laughed again “Oh, come on, that was brilliant!”

Autumn stumbled forward, voice raw “Ruby? What the hell are you doing?”

Ruby turned, still holding the mask in one hand “You saw that, right? God, she screamed, it’s perfect!”

“You scared her half to death!”

“It’s supposed to be scary! We’re selling atmosphere!”

“This isn’t a show!” Autumn shouted “She thought she was being attacked!”

Behind her, Blake caught up, wiping water from his face “You’re out of your mind.”

Ruby rolled her eyes “It’s a haunted-murder motel, Blake. What did you think the draw was bingo night?”

Andy appeared next, panting hard “We heard screaming-” He stopped cold when he saw Ruby holding the mask “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Adrianna followed, slipping in the mud and catching herself on a branch “Oh my God. That was you?”

Kawayan raised his camera halfheartedly, too stunned to use it “That’s insane,” he murmured, “You actually did it.”

Ruby beamed “You’re welcome.”

“Welcome?” Autumn repeated, her voice rising “She could’ve fallen, hit her head-”

“She’s fine,” Ruby said, waving it off “I made sure to stay back.”

Lightning flashed again, revealing Portia standing near the edge of the clearing, umbrella tilted, phone still raised.

Autumn blinked “Portia?”

Ruby glanced back “Oh, she’s just getting some behind-the-scenes stuff, we’re making content.”

Portia lowered her phone slowly, guilt written all over her face “Ruby, maybe that’s enough.”

“Are you kidding? This is gold!” Ruby said, laughing, “Look at her real fear! You can’t fake that.”

Paige pushed herself to her feet, trembling, “You-” Her voice cracked “You think this is funny?”

Ruby’s grin didn’t fade “Funny? It’s genius.”

Paige stared at her, rain streaming down her face “You’re disgusting.”

She turned and started walking back toward the motel, stumbling on the uneven ground.

“Paige come on!” Ruby called “Don’t be such a baby!”

No answer. The group followed in silence, flashlights cutting through the rain as they trudged back across the lot.

Paige was ahead of them, small and soaked, moving like someone who had nothing left to say. Behind her, Ruby walked slower, dragging the heavy Baphomet mask by one horn, her laughter fading with each step. Portia trailed behind them both, keeping her phone pressed against her chest as if hiding it from sight.

Blake finally spoke, voice low “You’ve crossed a line, Ruby.”

“Oh, please,” Ruby said without turning “It’s called immersion, people come here to feel something, we gave them that.”

Kawayan shook his head “There’s a difference between feeling and fear.”

“Fear is a feeling.”

“Not one you get to manufacture without consent,” Autumn said sharply.

Ruby stopped walking, water dripping from her hair. “You all act like saints but you loved every second of that tour. You wanted to be close to it, the blood, the photos, the stories. I just gave you a better version.”

“No,” Autumn said “You gave us a reminder of why people die in places like this because someone thinks it’s entertainment.”

Ruby smiled faintly “You’re welcome.”

They reached the front steps of the motel. The porch light cast long shadows across the soaked parking lot.

Paige climbed the steps first, her shoes squelching against the wood. She stopped beneath the light, turning just enough for Autumn to see her face. Mud streaked across her cheek, mascara running down like bruises.

Her expression was hollow, not rage, not fear, just the exhaustion that came when you realized you’d been betrayed for sport. Behind her, Ruby stood grinning, mask dangling from one hand, hair dripping and behind Ruby, half hidden in the rain, Portia lowered her phone and finally stopped recording. No one said a word.

Paige looked at Autumn, then at Blake, and whispered, “I want to go home.”

Then she turned and disappeared through the door. For a long time, no one moved. The storm raged on, pounding against the roof, filling the silence with a kind of white noise that made everything feel distant.

Ruby tried to laugh, but it came out brittle “Oh, come on, It wasn’t that bad.”

Autumn’s voice was quiet but sharp “You don’t even see what you’ve done.”

Ruby met her gaze, defiant “I made history come alive.”

“No,” Autumn said, stepping past her toward the door “you chased an innocent woman with a knife you raging bitch.”

She pushed inside, leaving Ruby and Portia standing alone in the rain. Portia slipped the phone into her pocket, eyes down. Ruby stared after Autumn, the smile gone now, the weight of silence pressing heavier than the storm.

Behind them, the neon sign flickered again… red, white, red… reflecting across the flooded lot where the footprints of the chase were already beginning to wash away.

Chapter Text

The storm hadn’t stopped only grown heavier, deeper, as if the clouds themselves were listening to the argument brewing inside.

By eight o’clock, the world outside the Cold River Motel had disappeared behind walls of rain. The windows of the lounge were black mirrors streaked with water, reflecting only the warm glow of the fireplace and the tense faces gathered around it.

No one was laughing now.

Ruby stood near the hearth, her arms crossed, chin high. Her dark hair was still damp, and the smudge of mascara beneath her eyes made her look more wolfish than composed. Portia sat beside the window, arms folded tightly across her chest, pretending calm but glancing at Ruby every few seconds like she was trying to anticipate her next explosion.

The guests, what remained of their patience,filled the couches and chairs around the coffee table, voices rising and overlapping like the storm itself.

Autumn and Andy sat side by side on the long sofa, both tight-shouldered and pale with frustration. Blake leaned against the far wall, arms crossed, jaw set. Adrianna was perched on the arm of a chair, restless, her foot bouncing rapidly against the floor. Kawayan sat on the rug near the fire, sketchpad open on his knees, though he hadn’t drawn a line in half an hour. Crow sat cross-legged on the floor by the mantel, serene as ever, eyes closed as if the chaos were music to him.

As for Paige, Paige sat curled in one of the leather chairs near the window, wrapped in a blanket someone had thrown over her earlier. She wasn’t saying anything and she wasn’t looking at anyone either.

“I just want to be clear,” Andy said, his voice tight “You scared her half to death for a promo video.”

Ruby rolled her eyes, “Promo film.”

“Oh, excuse me,” Blake said sharply “That makes it so much better.”

Portia cut in quickly, her voice low but firm. “You all signed the media release forms when you arrived. It was standard procedure. This was always going to be part of the weekend.”

“Standard?” Autumn snapped “Standard for what? ambush theater?”

“It’s a creative retreat,” Portia said “You were told we’d be documenting.”

“Documenting what?” Blake demanded “Our trauma?”

“Your reactions,” Ruby said simply “That’s what makes it authentic. It’s supposed to provoke something real.”

“‘Something real,’” Adrianna repeated, her tone sharp “You mean fear.”

“Fear is real,” Ruby said.

“So is manipulation,” Autumn countered.

Ruby smirked “Touché.”

The word landed like a spark in the room.

Kawayan closed his sketchbook quietly, sliding it onto the coffee table. “You know, when I got invited, I thought this was to see where it all happened, where they all died.” He looked up, his expression dark. “Not whatever the hell that was.”

“It was a performance,” Ruby said.

“It was an ambush,” he said flatly “I’ve done exhibit work, I know the difference.”

Blake let out a bitter laugh “That’s your defense? That it was art? You chased a woman through the woods in a demon mask, Ruby. You can’t justify that with creative intent.”

Ruby shrugged “It worked, didn’t it? You’re all talking about it.”

“Because it was insane,” Blake shot back.

“Because it was effective,” Ruby corrected.

Autumn’s voice cut through them, low but edged. “You don’t get to decide what’s effective for other people. You terrified her.”

Ruby turned her gaze toward Autumn, smiling faintly. “You’re acting like I drowned a puppy. She screamed, yes, but she’s fine. No one got hurt.”

Andy leaned forward, his voice rising “You don’t get to use ‘no one died’ as a moral defense!”

Portia sighed “Let’s keep this civil-”

“Civil?” Blake interrupted “She’s lucky she didn’t cause a heart attack! If you’d seen her face-”

Ruby’s tone sharpened “I did see it. That’s the point.”

Autumn stared at her “You don’t hear yourself, do you?”

The storm outside rattled the windows, punctuating the silence that followed.

Portia rubbed her temples “Look, I know things got out of hand, but Ruby’s right about one thing, you all signed release forms. You knew there would be interactive elements.”

“Interactive?” Andy repeated, incredulous “You call that interactive?”

“Yes,” Portia said “It was meant to be experiential, participatory art. The whole event is designed to explore fear, morality, and mortality.”

Autumn folded her arms “By traumatizing people.”

Portia gave a tired smile “By provoking genuine emotion.”

Blake barked out a laugh “You’re both out of your minds.”

Ruby’s eyes glittered “Says the guy who profits off dead people.”

He straightened “I write about what happened to me, not scare people to death.”

“Oh come on” Ruby said “you still do it for profit, your stories been told, you only keep talking about it because it makes you money. We’re the same, Blake. You just pretend you’re doing it for noble reasons.”

Blake stepped closer, voice low “The difference is I don’t turn human pain into a highlight reel.”

“Then what do you call your books?” Ruby shot back.

“Truth,” he said coldly.

Ruby smirked “Sure, keep telling yourself that.”

Adrianna leaned back, rubbing her temples. “God, you’re all exhausting. Can we skip the ethics debate and admit that the problem isn’t the stunt itself? It’s the lack of consent.”

“Thank you,” Autumn said.

Adrianna pointed toward Ruby “You want to make weird art? Fine but warn people first.”

“I did,” Ruby said.

“You warned no one,” Andy said “You ambushed us like it was a carnival attraction.”

Portia’s tone softened “Look, I know everyone’s upset-”

“Upset?” Blake interrupted “Upset doesn’t cover it.”

“Then what would?” Portia asked.

“Outraged,” Autumn said “Violated.”

Ruby threw her hands up “Oh, for God’s sake. You’re all acting like I committed murder.”

“You used murder as your inspiration,” Kawayan muttered.

Ruby laughed quietly “Exactly.”

For a moment, the group dissolved into overlapping voices, everyone talking at once. The words blurred into noise… disrespectful, insane, dangerous, unethical.

Only Crow stayed silent, staring into the fire, his face calm and unreadable. The flickering light caught the reflection in his eyes, and for a moment it looked as though he were somewhere else entirely.

Portia raised her voice above the din “Enough! Enough!”

The room fell back into uneasy quiet.

Ruby smoothed her hair, regaining her composure. “You’re all very dramatic, you know that? What happened was part of a broader theme, confronting fear. The real and the imagined. It’s supposed to make you question yourselves.”

Autumn stared at her “I question why I came.”

“That’s self-discovery,” Ruby said with a grin.

Andy muttered, “You’re impossible.”

Crow finally spoke, his tone calm but unsettlingly sincere. “She’s not wrong, fear is only the body remembering what the soul already knows.”

Adrianna groaned “Please stop.”

Crow smiled “Why? You came here to face death. You just didn’t expect it to look like you.”

Blake shook his head “I’m going to start drinking if he keeps talking.”

“Already poured one,” Kawayan muttered, raising his glass.

Autumn turned toward Portia, “Tell me something honestly. Did you know Ruby was planning to do that?”

Portia hesitated “I knew she had… ideas.”

“Did you stop her?”

“I tried,” she said.

Ruby laughed “No, she didn’t.”

Portia glared at her “I told you to wait until we discussed it.”

“And I did,” Ruby said “Internally.”

“You’re fucking crazy,” Autumn muttered.

Blake looked at them both “This is a joke, right? You two are running a haunted house, not an opening weekend.”

Ruby smiled “It’s both, people crave proximity to darkness. They want to feel death brush past them without consequence.”

Adrianna rolled her eyes “I just wanted free wine and to see a crime scene.”

Kawayan chuckled humorlessly “Same, thought we’d swap theories about the killings, not reenact them.”

Ruby grinned “You got the deluxe package.”

“Shut up,” Andy snapped “You don’t get to be smug after terrorizing someone.”

Ruby’s smile faded “Don’t tell me what I get to be.”

“Then start acting like a person,” he shot back.

“Better than acting like a corpse,” she said.

Andy stood halfway, his face flushing “What did you just-”

“Sit down,” Autumn said sharply, grabbing his sleeve.

He sat, shaking with anger. The fire popped, throwing sparks into the air. Paige flinched at the sound.

All eyes turned toward her for a moment, her small figure wrapped in the blanket, sitting apart from them all. Her eyes were distant, half-focused on the rain-streaked window. She looked more exhausted than scared now, as if her fear had burned out and left only fatigue.

Adrianna studied her for a moment “You’re awfully quiet.”

Paige blinked, as if pulled back from somewhere far away “What?”

“You haven’t said a word,” Adrianna said. “You’re the one who got chased through the woods. Shouldn’t you be the angriest one here?”

Paige hesitated “I’m just tired.”

“Of what?” Blake asked gently.

Paige shrugged “Of all of this.”

Ruby rolled her eyes “See? She’s fine.”

Autumn glared at her “She’s not fine.”

Paige didn’t respond. She just pulled the blanket tighter around herself, eyes lowering to the floor. For a moment, the room fell into another uneasy silence, the kind that felt like it could collapse into shouting at any second.

Kawayan finally broke it, “You know, it’s weird. We’re all furious, but she’s sitting there like it didn’t even happen.”

Ruby smiled faintly, “That’s because she gets it.”

Adrianna frowned, “Gets what? Being humiliated?”

“She understands art when she sees it,” Ruby said.

“Art?” Andy said, “That wasn’t art, that was cruelty.”

Ruby shrugged, “You can’t have one without the other.”

“Bullshit,” Blake said.

“Truth,” Crow murmured.

Blake pointed at him, “You’re not helping.”

Crow smiled, “I rarely do.”

The storm hit harder against the windows, drowning out the hum of the heater. Lightning flashed again, bleaching the room white for an instant. Everyone flinched except Crow, who didn’t even blink.

Portia checked her phone, the screen glowing blue in the dim light. “We’re losing signal again, if it keeps up like this, we’ll lose power.”

“Good,” Blake said, “Maybe then Ruby can’t stream our nervous breakdowns.”

Ruby smirked, “You’re assuming it isn’t already recorded.”

Andy groaned, “you are a terrible human being.”

Ruby turned toward him, “you're still here.”

“That’s because the roads are flooded,” he snapped.

She laughed, “Fate works in mysterious ways.”

Autumn rubbed her forehead, “I can’t believe this. We’re trapped in a motel with no signal, a storm outside, and the two people running this thing think public humiliation is art.”

Blake nodded, “It’s like a bad documentary that won’t end.”

“Correction,” Adrianna said, “It’s a documentary we’re in that won’t end.”

Kawayan gestured at Ruby, “If she’s directing, it’ll never end.”

Ruby smirked, “You wound me.”

Andy leaned back, exhaling sharply “You deserve worse.”

Crow stirred near the fire, “Anger feeds the storm,” he said softly “Be careful what you nurture.”

Blake looked at him “Are you saying we caused the weather now?”

Crow smiled “Everything causes something.”

“Congratulations,” Adrianna said dryly “You’ve officially said nothing.”

Crow inclined his head “but you listened.”

Autumn stood slowly “Enough, this is going nowhere. We’re not going to agree.”

“Then don’t,” Ruby said.

“We’re not your cast,” Autumn said firmly “We’re your guests.”

Ruby raised an eyebrow “You sound sure about that.”

“I am.”

Blake glanced between them “Can we just call a truce for one night? Before someone actually kills someone?”

“Truce?” Ruby said, smirking “I thought you wanted authenticity.”

“I want silence,” Blake said.

“Good luck with that,” Adrianna muttered.

Outside, thunder rumbled again, closer this time, louder. The lights flickered briefly, then steadied.

Portia sighed “All right, enough shouting for one night. We’ll regroup tomorrow when everyone’s calmer.”

Ruby scoffed “They won’t calm down.”

“Then maybe you can stop provoking them,” Portia said.

Ruby grinned “No promises.”

Blake rolled his eyes “Of course not.”

The fire cracked again, sending a small shower of sparks into the hearth.

Autumn sank back onto the couch, exhaustion finally overtaking her anger. Andy rubbed the bridge of his nose beside her. Kawayan had started sketching again, quiet and focused, the scratch of pencil on paper cutting softly through the storm. Adrianna had opened a small bottle of wine she’d smuggled from dinner, pouring herself a generous glass.

Only Paige hadn’t moved. She sat with her blanket pulled tight, eyes unfocused, watching the flicker of the flames on the glass window as if something outside was whispering to her.

Blake noticed first “Hey,” he said quietly “You all right?”

Paige blinked, then nodded once “I’m fine.”

He frowned “You don’t look fine.”

Adrianna set down her glass “She doesn’t even look pissed. You’re not pissed?”

Paige hesitated “I’m just… processing.”

“Processing?” Blake repeated. “You were chased through the woods by a psycho in a horn mask. If that were me, I’d be pissed.”

Andy crossed his arms “Yeah, why aren’t you angry?”

Paige looked up slowly, the firelight danced in her eyes, soft and unreadable. For a moment, no one breathed.

Then Ruby laughed quietly from near the fireplace “Maybe she’s hiding something.”

The fire burned low, its light flickering against the old wood-paneled walls.
Paige still hadn’t answered. Her eyes followed the slow dance of the flames, her fingers tightening around the edge of the blanket draped across her lap.

Nobody pushed her for a moment. The silence in the lounge was thick enough to taste, the kind that hummed in the bones rather than filled the air. The storm outside pressed against the windows, thunder distant but constant.

Blake sighed and leaned his head back against the wall, muttering something under his breath that no one caught. Adrianna’s wine glass clinked softly as she set it down, half empty. Autumn’s pen rested between her fingers, unmoving, the notebook in her lap open but blank.

Portia paced near the fireplace, every motion tight and precise. Ruby had settled herself into the armchair nearest the hearth, one leg draped lazily over the other, a half-smile curving her mouth as though she were immune to the weight pressing down on the room.

Crow sat by the fire, eyes closed, breathing evenly, hands clasped loosely in his lap as though the storm outside was nothing more than background music.

Paige’s voice broke the silence at last, barely above a whisper, “I’m not angry because I knew what I was signing up for.”

Her words landed like small stones dropped into still water. The ripples took a second to reach everyone else.

Autumn looked up sharply “What do you mean by that?”

Paige didn’t move “I mean I was told there would be… performances. Filming, I thought it was part of the project.”

Andy frowned “Told by who?”

“Ruby,” Paige said quietly.

All heads turned toward the woman by the fire, Ruby didn’t flinch.

“Oh, don’t look at me like that,” she said. “I told her some of what we had planned. She wanted exposure. It was mutually beneficial.”

Blake’s voice rose, sharp and disbelieving “Exposure? She got chased through the woods!”

Ruby tilted her head “And she lived, that’s more than the last guests here got.”

Adrianna exhaled hard, shaking her head “God, you’re insane.”

Portia’s tone cut through before Ruby could respond. “It’s not as if it was a secret, Paige signed a separate contract.”

Autumn blinked “Contract?”

Portia nodded once “For compensation, she’s the only one here who’s being paid.”

The words hung in the air, impossible to ignore. For a second, no one reacted. Then Hemmingway laughed, once, low and disbelieving.

“You’ve got to be joking.”

Ruby glanced toward him, still calm. “Not at all, she’s an actress, we needed someone familiar with the camera.”

Hemmingway stood, his apron streaked with flour and grease from hours in the kitchen. His eyes flashed “An actress gets a paycheck while the rest of us get… what, heart palpitations?”

Portia started to speak, but he cut her off, his voice rising. “I’ve been in that kitchen all day making the kind of menu people would kill for, and she…” He jabbed a finger toward Paige. “… gets paid to scream and run around in the rain like a B-movie extra?”

Paige flinched, her voice small “I didn’t know you weren’t-”

“Don’t,” he snapped, “Don’t play innocent. You sat there quiet while we all tore into each other. You knew.”

“I didn’t think it mattered,” Paige said softly.

“It matters,” he said, his voice dropping “It matters a hell of a lot.”

Adrianna uncrossed her arms. “You mean to tell me I’ve been out here risking pneumonia for free while she gets a check and a spotlight? Oh, that’s cute.”

“None of you are here for nothing,” Portia said quickly, but the defense sounded hollow.

Blake’s laugh was humorless, “Really? Because it sure feels like we are. You lured a bunch of us here under the pretense of some academic retreat, then filmed us for your marketing circus.”

“It’s called content,” Ruby said dryly.

“Call it what you want,” Autumn said, her voice low and cold “You’re exploiting people.”

Ruby’s smile faded “Big word for someone who digs up skeletons for a living.”

Autumn’s jaw tightened “The difference is that I work with the truth.”

“Truth,” Ruby echoed, tasting the word. “That’s all this is. Fear is truth, anger is truth, humiliation is truth. You just don’t like seeing your reflection in it.”

Andy stood, pacing “You’re unbelievable, you’ve manipulated everyone here.”

Portia stepped in quickly, her tone firm but controlled. “Enough, what’s done is done. We can discuss contracts and complaints in the morning. Right now, we all need to calm down” but no one calmed.

Hemmingway was still standing, his drink forgotten on the side table. His hands clenched and unclenched, his voice louder now. “Do you know how hard I worked on that dinner? I planned every dish, every detail… hell, I even made the food look like murder victims just to match your stupid theme!”

Ruby smirked faintly “And it was brilliant.”

“Don’t patronize me.”

“It was art,” she said.

“It was mockery,” he snapped. “I’m the one doing real work here, not playing dress-up in a devil suit or hiding behind a camera.”

Portia’s voice rose “Hemmingway-”

He turned on her “You two are parasites. You don’t run a motel, you run a carnival and you…” He pointed at Ruby… "think you’re Kubrick in a funeral home.”

Ruby laughed softly “Better than being the help.”

That did it.

His glass hit the table so hard it cracked “You know what? You can make your own dinner tonight.”

He stormed toward the hallway, the echo of his footsteps shaking loose dust from the rafters. No one followed. The sound of the kitchen door slamming shut punctuated the end of the conversation like thunder. Silence returned, thicker than before.

Ruby exhaled slowly, swirling her drink as if nothing had happened “He’ll get over it,” she said.

Autumn rubbed her temple “You really don’t care, do you?”

“I care about the art,” Ruby said.

“You mean the attention,” Blake said.

Ruby smiled “Same thing.”

Portia sank into a chair, massaging her forehead “Can we please not start again?”

Adrianna muttered, “You’re the one who hired us for a horror show.”

“Correction,” Ruby said, “I invited you.”

“Under false pretenses,” Andy added.

Portia’s voice grew sharper. “We offered you an experience, not a paycheck. Paige was hired for a specific purpose, she’s recognizable. She adds value.”

Autumn’s gaze hardened “To who?”

Ruby leaned forward, eyes gleaming “To the story. People remember faces, she’s the tie between the old murders and the new blood.”

Paige flinched again but didn’t speak. Her fingers twisted the edge of the blanket tighter.

Blake shook his head “You talk about this like it’s scripted.”

Ruby smiled “Isn’t everything?”

For several minutes, no one spoke. The fire hissed softly, collapsing into itself, smoke curling up the chimney. The light flickered against the glass of the window, the storm outside briefly visible before the next gust of wind fogged it over again.

Autumn stood, restless energy rolling off her. “I’m done talking. I just want to sleep and pretend this isn’t happening.”

Ruby lifted her glass “Sweet dreams, Doctor.”

Autumn ignored her.

Blake pushed off the wall “She’s right, we should all just stay in our rooms and not give this woman another ounce of attention.”

Portia sighed “That might be difficult.”

Blake turned to her “Why?”

She exchanged a look with Ruby, a quick, wordless exchange that everyone noticed.

Andy narrowed his eyes “What now?”

Portia hesitated, then said, “There’s another event tonight. One that’s already been scheduled.”

Autumn frowned “What event?”

Crow finally opened his eyes “The séance.”

It took a second for the word to land.

Adrianna groaned “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Crow stood, stretching slowly, his shadow stretching long and thin across the floor. “We’ll meet in the basement, it’s where the energy is strongest.”

Blake scoffed “The energy?”

Crow smiled faintly “Every story leaves residue. Thirty years of silence doesn’t erase what was done here.”

“Please tell me this isn’t happening,” Autumn said.

“It’s mandatory,” Portia said quietly “All guests are expected to participate.”

“Mandatory?” Andy echoed “You’ve lost your minds.”

Ruby spoke before Portia could “Think of it as closure. A little communion with history.”

Adrianna poured herself more wine “I’d rather commune with vodka.”

“Participation isn’t optional,” Crow said gently “You’ll understand once you’re there.”

Blake glared at him “You planning to start levitating tables?”

Crow didn’t react “Skepticism is fear dressed as logic.”

“And delusion is ego dressed as wisdom,” Blake shot back.

Ruby laughed quietly “I’m with him, actually. This sounds fun.”

Autumn shook her head “Fun isn’t the word I’d use.”

Crow’s eyes moved over the room slowly. “You’ve all felt it,” he said “The heaviness, the whispers at the edge of sleep. The house remembers what was done to it. Tonight, we’ll listen.”

Paige finally spoke again, her voice soft but steady “You already planned this, didn’t you?”

Ruby glanced at her “Of course we did. The timing was perfect.”

Portia nodded, her voice quiet but firm. “Crow approached us weeks ago. We approved it before the invites even went out.”

Autumn looked from one to the other. “So the retreat was never about reflection or discussion. It was about performance.”

Ruby smiled faintly “Performance is reflection. You just refuse to see it.”

Blake let out a long breath “You people are insane.”

Crow turned toward him “You’ll see truth tonight. That’s all that matters.”

“Truth,” Blake repeated bitterly “In the basement of a murder motel. Sure.”

Crow’s expression didn’t change “That’s exactly where truth lives.”

The fire had gone down to embers now. The light on the walls flickered dimly, painting everyone in shades of red and gold.

Portia checked her watch “We’ll start in an hour. Everyone needs to be downstairs by nine.”

Adrianna groaned “Do we have to wear robes or something?”

Ruby laughed “No, but that’s not a bad idea.”

Autumn turned to Crow “Why the basement?”

“Because that’s where she died,” he said simply.

No one needed to ask who she was. Thunder rolled across the sky like a closing door.

Crow smiled faintly “The storm is right on time.”

He moved toward the doorway, his silhouette framed in the flickering light. “Eat, rest, reflect, then come to me when the clock strikes nine. The veil doesn’t wait.”

He disappeared down the hall, his footsteps silent on the old wood. The room stayed quiet long after he was gone. The only sound was the storm pressing against the walls and the faint hiss of the dying fire.

Portia broke the silence first “You don’t have to like it,” she said “But you’re all expected to be there.”

Blake muttered, “You can expect whatever you want.”

Ruby smiled faintly, raising her glass in a mock toast “To communion.”

No one responded. Paige’s eyes stayed fixed on the flames. The glow reflected in her pupils like the ghost of something she couldn’t name.

Autumn looked around the room, at the weary faces, at the uneasy stillness that hung between them, and realized it wasn’t anger filling the space anymore. It was dread, the kind that settles in quietly and refuses to leave.

Chapter Text

The basement felt smaller tonight. The air was heavy with damp, and every sound, every breath, every shift of movement, seemed to echo twice. The hum of the storm outside pressed faintly through the walls, a dull heartbeat that no one spoke over.

Crow had spent the past half hour preparing the space with obsessive precision. The pentagram was redrawn in chalk across the center of the floor, its points surrounded by a ring of thick white candles. He’d moved slowly and deliberately, humming under his breath as he worked.

Now the flames burned low and steady, filling the room with an uneven glow that bent shadows around everyone’s faces. Paige lay in the center of it all.

Her light blue gown caught the candlelight like silk underwater, shifting with every breath she took. Her arms were stretched loosely at her sides, eyes closed, her hair fanned out beneath her head in deliberate waves. Ruby had insisted on the outfit “Something ethereal,” she’d said. “Something to make the photos haunting.”

Autumn thought it made Paige look like a corpse. She tried not to stare too long, but the sight of her lying so still in that pale blue fabric unsettled her in ways she couldn’t quite name.

The group stood in a rough circle around the pentagram.

Blake leaned against one of the concrete support posts, his expression hovering somewhere between boredom and disbelief. Andy looked uncomfortable but was clearly trying to appear rational about it. Adrianna had taken to idly examining her nails, her flashlight tucked under one arm. Kawayan sketched something quietly on the back of an envelope.

Ruby stood nearest Crow, candle in hand, the smoke from its flame curling faintly against her black hair. She looked proud of the atmosphere she’d created. Portia, by contrast, seemed exhausted. She kept checking her watch like she wanted the night to be over already.

Crow knelt beside Paige’s head, his voice low and patient as he lit the last of the candles. “Tonight,” he murmured, “we open the passage between what remains and what remembers. The past is not gone, it simply waits to be spoken to.”

Blake leaned toward Autumn, whispering, “Is it too late to fake a power outage?”

Autumn’s lips curved faintly “You’d have to unplug him.”

“Worth it.”

Crow straightened, candlelight catching the glint of the small silver rings on his fingers. His eyes were sharp and distant, like he’d already drifted somewhere the rest of them couldn’t follow.

“Silence,” he said softly “From this moment, no one speaks unless called to.”

Thunder rolled overhead, shaking dust from the rafters. The candles flickered and Crow began to chant.

The Latin came in waves, his voice slow at first, deliberate, like he was tasting the words. The syllables blended together in rhythm with the storm, soft, low hums that swelled and fell between claps of thunder.

Autumn watched the flames shift, each flicker sending shadows leaping across the concrete walls. It was colder down here than she remembered.

She tried to focus on the structure of it, on the performance. That was all this was. The lighting, the chanting, the staging, it was designed to create the illusion of something larger than life. It was Ruby’s brand of theater, and Crow was simply the latest actor but even knowing that, she couldn’t quite relax.

Every few seconds, one of the candles wavered as if from breath rather than air. Paige’s breathing was shallow, steady, rhythmic…too rhythmic. The kind of calm that looked practiced. Autumn’s skin prickled.

Blake shifted beside her, his voice barely audible over the chanting. “You’d think if this stuff worked, history would’ve mentioned it by now.”

Autumn whispered, “Careful, you’ll ruin the spell.”

He smirked “Good.”

His flashlight rested against his leg, its beam pointed downward. He wasn’t using it, but she could see his thumb brushing the switch, ready in case something actually startled him.

Crow’s voice grew louder.

“Ex tenebris… veritatem vocamus…”

Ruby mouthed the words along with him, though she clearly didn’t understand them. Portia just stood still, frowning.

Adrianna muttered, “God, this feels like a college improv class.”

Andy shot her a look “Maybe don’t anger the local spirits.”

She raised an eyebrow “If the spirits are real, they’ve got bigger problems than me.”

Kawayan snorted softly without looking up from his sketch.

Crow’s voice broke through them again, deeper this time “Spiritus, audite vocem nostram!”

His tone vibrated against the concrete, the Latin blurring into something more guttural, less structured. Autumn watched him carefully. He’d lost the steady rhythm he’d started with, his words dragged now, slower, almost desperate.

The air in the basement seemed to pull inward, the candle flames bending toward the center of the circle as though something invisible had leaned in to listen. Thunder boomed again, drowning out the last of his chant.

Then silence. Crow lowered his hands. Everyone stood waiting, unsure if they were supposed to clap or just… breathe. Paige didn’t move.

Blake sighed under his breath “Well, color me possessed.”

Ruby glared at him “Show some respect.”

“For what? The candle budget?”

Crow’s eyes opened slowly “The veil has thinned,” he said.

Adrianna rolled her eyes “Sure it has.”

“Listen,” Crow said, voice low and insistent “The air changes when they draw close, feel it.”

Autumn did feel something but it wasn’t supernatural. It was the drop in temperature, the shift in pressure before another roll of thunder. Still, she didn’t say it aloud.

“Do you feel that?” Ruby whispered.

Blake leaned toward Autumn again “Yeah. I think it’s called disappointment.”

Autumn tried not to laugh.

Crow began to move again, his hands tracing slow patterns through the air above Paige’s body. He whispered softly in Latin again, but his tone had changed. It wasn’t commanding anymore, it was questioning, like he was trying to coax something forward.

Paige’s eyelids fluttered once.

Ruby gasped “Did you see that?”

“She blinked,” Andy said “Because she’s alive.”

“Don’t mock what you don’t understand,” Ruby said sharply.

“What, blinking?” Andy muttered.

The candles flickered again, as if reacting to the tension.

Autumn’s gaze swept over the group. Every face was half-lit, half-shadowed, the kind of lighting that turned even familiar people into strangers. It struck her that they all looked different tonight. Less human. Even Blake, his usual dry amusement dulled by fatigue, looked older somehow under the flickering light.

“Exaudi nos,” Crow whispered again “Exaudi et responde.”

The words echoed faintly. A gust of wind hissed through a crack near the foundation, bending the flames in one direction. Wax dripped down the chalk lines like pale blood. Nothing else happened.

Minutes passed, Crow stood motionless. The chanting had stopped entirely, leaving only the sound of the storm and their breathing.

Autumn’s patience began to crack. She shifted her weight, arms crossed tightly “Is that it?” she asked softly.

Crow didn’t answer.

Blake rubbed the back of his neck “Pretty sure the ghosts RSVP’d no.”

“Silence,” Crow said again, his voice soft but sharp.

Ruby looked impatient “Are we supposed to what… wait until something floats?”

“The spirits don’t follow clocks,” Crow said.

“Then maybe they should start,” Blake muttered.

Autumn glanced toward Paige again. Her breathing had deepened now, steady but shallow, like someone drifting between waking and sleep. The gown shimmered faintly with each breath.

Crow crouched beside her again, lowering his head as if listening for a whisper from beneath the floor. The rest of them stood still, half-bored, half-uncomfortable. The smell of melting wax mixed with the faint scent of damp stone.

Blake exhaled softly beside Autumn “If this guy starts levitating, I’m leaving.”

“You’d trip on your way out,” she murmured.

He smiled faintly, eyes still on the circle. Another low rumble of thunder crawled through the basement ceiling. One of the candles went out completely, smoke curling into the air.

Ruby bent to relight it, muttering under her breath “Everything’s drama with this place.”

Autumn caught Blake’s gaze “You think this is just about theatrics, don’t you?” she whispered.

He hesitated. “I think Crow’s a showman and Ruby’s a narcissist. The rest of us are just the audience.”

“And Paige?”

He glanced toward her, still lying motionless in the circle, her expression peaceful, detached. “She’s the centerpiece, every performance needs one.”

Autumn nodded slowly “You’re not wrong.”

He looked at her for a moment longer “You’re not actually scared, are you?”

“Of ghosts?”

“Of any of it.”

She paused “No but something feels… wrong.”

He didn’t ask what she meant, they both knew. Crow suddenly straightened, breaking the silence.

His eyes opened wide, unfocused “Something’s incomplete.”

Ruby frowned “What?”

“The circle,” he said softly “It’s unbalanced.”

Portia frowned “Everything’s here, everyone’s here.”

Crow’s gaze swept the room, slow and searching. His mouth moved as he counted under his breath.

Autumn watched him, uneasy.

“Eight,” he murmured “There should be nine.”

Adrianna sighed “You’re kidding, you’re counting heads now?”

Crow didn’t answer, he simply stared at the far wall, his expression unreadable. The thunder rolled again, closer this time.

Blake adjusted his grip on the flashlight, pointing it toward the corners of the room where the candlelight didn’t reach. “He’s right about one thing,” he said quietly “It does feel off down here.”

Autumn followed his gaze. The basement stretched into darkness beyond the candlelight, full of stacked furniture and the faint glint of old metal pipes. The longer she looked, the more her eyes played tricks, shapes shifting just at the edge of vision, never quite becoming anything. She tore her eyes away.

“Crow,” Portia said carefully “What are you saying?”

His voice was barely above a whisper “Someone’s missing.”

Ruby looked irritated “Oh, for God’s sake. We’re all standing right here.”

He shook his head slowly “No, the circle was meant for nine.”

Autumn glanced around again, realizing with a strange twist in her stomach that he was right. Eight people… Paige, Crow, Ruby, Portia, Adrianna, Andy, Kawayan, Blake, Herself, Nine with… but she didn’t finish the thought. A flicker of unease rippled through her anyway.

Crow knelt back down beside Paige, his hand hovering over her chest. “Until we’re complete,” he said quietly, “they won’t answer.”

The flames bent again, all in the same direction this time, like they’d been drawn by a single breath. Autumn shivered, the draft shouldn’t have felt that cold.

Blake leaned closer to her, his voice low “You feel that?”

She nodded once “Yeah.”

Crow’s eyes were closed again, his voice almost tender now “We wait.”

No one argued. They stood still in the dim candlelight, surrounded by silence thick enough to hear their own hearts beating, unaware of what waited just beyond the basement walls.

Crow’s eyes drifted slowly around the basement. “The circle should be nine.”

Ruby frowned, her irritation sharp even in the candlelight “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Portia followed his gaze “Wait… he’s right. We’re one short.”

“Who?” Andy asked.

Ruby’s answer came with a sigh “Hemmingway.”

Autumn felt a dull twist in her stomach. The image of him flashed through her mind, flour-streaked apron, loud voice, the gleam of a knife in his hand as he bragged about his menu. That energy was missing now and the room felt wrong without it.

Ruby turned away, snatching up her flashlight “He’s probably brooding in the kitchen. I’ll go drag him back.”

“Leave him,” Blake said “He’s probably cooling off.”

Ruby shot him a look over her shoulder “He’s part of this. No one gets to skip the finale.”

Before anyone could argue, she started for the stairs, the beam of her light bouncing over the concrete wall. The heavy door creaked shut behind her, and the echo of her boots faded into the steady drum of rain.

They waited. The candles hissed and sputtered. Shadows stretched and folded as if the walls themselves were breathing. Crow stood perfectly still, hands clasped in front of him, his face unreadable.

Autumn’s patience thinned with each second that passed. The air down here was growing thicker, too close, too heavy with the smell of melted wax.

“She’ll be back,” Portia said finally, though her voice lacked conviction.

“Maybe,” Adrianna muttered, “she’ll stay gone.”

No one laughed.

Blake turned his flashlight off and on again just to have something to do “You think he actually left?”

Autumn shook her head “Not with the storm, the roads are flooded.”

“So where is he?”

She didn’t answer. Another roll of thunder swept through the building, long and low, vibrating the floor beneath their feet. Dust rained down from the exposed beams above.

Paige stirred slightly in the center of the circle but didn’t open her eyes. Her pale gown shimmered faintly under the candlelight.

Crow moved to her side, murmuring something low and indecipherable, maybe another fragment of Latin, maybe prayer. The sound of it made the hair rise on Autumn’s arms.

Upstairs, Ruby’s flashlight cut across the empty hallway. The motel had gone still except for the rain tapping against the windows and the soft electric hum of the old fridge in the lounge. Her boots squeaked faintly on the tile.

“Hemmingway?” she called.

Nothing.

She tried again, louder “Hey! The séance is happening, stop sulking!”

Only the storm answered. The kitchen door stood half-open, swinging slightly in the draft. A sliver of orange light glowed along the floor inside.

She frowned. The smell reached her before she touched the door. Something faintly bitter, heavy. The sour tang of smoke and grease.

“Seriously?” she muttered “You’re cooking now?”

She pushed the door open. The kitchen was washed in dim amber from the row of heat lamps over the counter. Pans gleamed under the light. The stainless steel tables were spotless, too spotless, everything arranged perfectly.

Her flashlight beam drifted toward the ovens. One of them was still on. The red indicator light burned steady, a small eye in the dark.

Ruby rolled her eyes “Unbelievable.”

She crossed the room, muttering, “You know, for a perfectionist, you’re terrible at safety protocols.”

The closer she got, the worse the smell became… thick, acrid, clinging to the back of her throat. Something oily and wrong.

“God, Hemmingway…” she coughed, waving a hand in front of her face “What the hell did you-”

Her voice stopped. Inside the oven’s small window, something dark shifted in the heat.

At first she thought it was a roast, maybe pork but the shape wasn’t right. It was hunched, contorted, pressed against the rack like something that had tried to crawl out.

Her breath caught, the smell turned her stomach. She stepped closer despite every part of her screaming not to. Her hand reached out, trembling, and twisted the dial off. The soft click of the switch sounded deafening.

For a moment she just stared, willing her eyes to lie to her. Then she pulled the handle. The door opened with a low metallic groan, and the heat rolled out in a suffocating wave. What she saw inside tore a scream straight from her chest.

Downstairs, the sound cut through the basement like thunder. Everyone jumped.

“What was that?” Adrianna’s voice broke.

Blake’s flashlight snapped on “Ruby.”

Portia was already moving “Something’s wrong.”

Crow raised his head, eyes distant “The energy’s changed.”

“Enough with that,” Andy snapped, pushing past him. “She screamed, that’s all we need to know.”

The stairwell groaned as they scrambled up, their footsteps echoing off the concrete. The candles behind them flickered violently, wax spilling down the chalk lines of the pentagram.

Autumn’s heart pounded in her ears as she reached the main floor. The hallway felt darker than before, the storm pressing at the windows hard enough to rattle the glass. Another sound, faint this time, filtered through the air. A second, shorter scream, then silence.

“Ruby?” Portia shouted.

No answer. They ran.

The kitchen was at the end of the narrow corridor, the smell hitting them halfway there… smoke, grease, something burnt through.

Blake gagged “Jesus, what is that?”

Portia’s pace quickened “Ruby!”

They burst through the doorway. The scene inside froze them all where they stood.

Ruby was on her knees in front of the open oven, her hands gripping the edge of the counter for balance. The flashlight she’d been carrying had rolled across the floor, spinning slowly, its beam slicing through the haze of smoke.

The air was dense and shimmering from the residual heat. The red light from the dial had gone out, but the oven still glowed faintly within, orange at the edges, black at its core.

Ruby’s breath came in short, ragged gasps.

Portia stopped a few feet behind her, one hand rising to her mouth “Ruby-”

Ruby didn’t seem to hear. She just stared into the oven, frozen, her whole body trembling.

Autumn felt the temperature hit her first, that oppressive wave of warmth mixed with the stench of burnt flesh and metal. It was so strong it blurred the edges of her vision.

Her mind registered pieces before it dared connect them. The dark shape inside, the curve of a shoulder. A hand, blackened and stiff, curled against the rack. Blake took a step closer, but only one. His face had gone pale, his lips parted without sound.

The others crowded the doorway behind them, Andy, Adrianna, Kawayan each one stopping cold the instant the scene came into view. No one spoke.

The storm hammered the windows, thunder cracking hard enough to rattle the pans hanging from the wall. Footsteps thudded down the hall, heavier, slower. The Dantrees appeared, both wrapped in towels and half-dressed, faces flushed from the steam of their rented room.

“What on earth-” Floyd started, but the words died the moment he looked past them. Shirley froze beside him, her hand flying to her chest.

The smell filled every inch of the kitchen now.

The oven door hung open. The heat rolled out in steady waves. Inside, the shape was no longer just shadow. The blackened body within it had form now under the flashlight’s beam, the unmistakable outline of a man.

The skin blistered, cracked, and peeling, limbs curled inward like dry leaves. A chef’s apron clung to what was left of his frame, fused to him by the fire.

Ruby’s scream broke through the silence again, a sound so raw it didn’t sound human and in that instant, every face in the room turned toward the same horror, eyes wide, hearts stopped.

The storm roared overhead. The lights flickered and then, for one suspended heartbeat, no one breathed at all.

Chapter Text

The scream fractured the room into silence. For a long moment, no one breathed. The storm outside filled the stillness, rain thrashing against the windows, thunder rumbling low through the bones of the motel.

The smell of burnt meat was unbearable, dense, oily, clinging to skin and fabric and throat. Heat rolled from the open oven in waves, making the air shimmer. Autumn was the first to move.

She blinked hard, trying to steady her breath, then spoke, her voice sharp and steady “Don’t touch anything.”

Ruby’s cries cracked through the air again, raw and shaking. Portia clutched her shoulders, trying to pull her back, but Ruby resisted, still staring into the oven like she was seeing something that couldn’t possibly exist.

Autumn turned toward her “Ruby step away, right now.”

Ruby didn’t respond.

Blake moved first, taking hold of Ruby’s arm and guiding her gently back from the oven. “Come on,” he said quietly “Give her room.”

She stumbled away, sobbing, the sound swallowed by the storm.

Autumn crouched slightly, keeping her distance from the body but lowering herself enough to see inside. The heat radiated up against her face, and for a second she had to look away, blinking through the tears the smell forced into her eyes.

Hemmingway’s body was curled unnaturally, twisted against the racks as though he’d fought his way upward before the muscles gave out. One arm hung over the edge, the fingers black and stiff, nails burnt down to the quick. The rest of him was charred, unrecognizable. His face was a melted ruin. The remnants of his apron clung to what was left of his torso, fused to the skin in strips.

He hadn’t died quickly.

Autumn swallowed hard, forcing the professional part of her brain forward, the part that catalogued, calculated, observed. It was the only way she could stay upright.

Behind her, Andy muttered something under his breath, something like a prayer or maybe just disbelief. Adrianna stood motionless, one hand pressed over her mouth. Kawayan’s sketchbook was still on the floor where he’d dropped it.

No one dared speak above a whisper.

Autumn reached into her jacket pocket and pulled out a small pair of exam gloves she always carried. A habit from work that had become instinct. The sound of the latex snapping around her wrists seemed unnaturally loud in the kitchen.

“What are you doing?” Portia asked, voice thin.

“Preserving the scene,” Autumn said simply “If he was murdered, we can’t contaminate evidence.”

“‘If’?” Blake said, his voice rough “You think this looks like an accident?”

Autumn didn’t answer. She stepped closer, crouching beside the oven. The heat had dropped but the metal was still radiating warmth. She felt it through the gloves like touching sunlight trapped under steel.

She scanned what she could see without shifting anything. The body’s position suggested he hadn’t been moved postmortem. No drag marks, no obvious signs of restraint but the charring was too extensive to confirm.

Her mind started piecing through possibilities.

He could have been drunk, fallen asleep near the oven, caught his clothes on fire but the door had been latched from the outside. She’d noticed that immediately. The latch was bent outward, heat-warped, but unmistakably closed before it melted.

He’d been locked in.

She inhaled through her nose, shallowly “Everyone stay back, please.”

The others shuffled a few steps away, the sound of their movement sharp and quick.

Autumn angled her flashlight into the oven cavity, using her gloved hand to shield the glare “Blake, light,” she said quietly.

He hesitated, then pointed his own flashlight beside hers “Like this?”

“Perfect.”

The beam cut through the haze. The oven’s interior was blackened but still glowed faintly from residual heat. Ash and melted fat had collected on the lower rack. The metal around Hemmingway’s torso was warped inward, as though he’d thrashed against it.

She forced her gaze to his face or what remained of it. The mouth was open, teeth faintly visible where the flesh had burned away. The skull shape was distorted, but she could still make out the jawline beneath the carbonized tissue.

The burns were uneven, that told her something. He hadn’t been dead when the fire started.

Autumn swallowed again, her throat dry. “He was alive when this happened,” she said softly, mostly to herself.

Blake’s flashlight trembled slightly in his hand “You’re sure?”

She nodded once “See the pattern of the burns? They’re deepest along the chest and throat, he was breathing when it started. You can tell from the oxygen flow in the tissue.”

He blinked, looking away “Christ…”

Behind them, Ruby whimpered quietly.

Autumn continued, her voice quieter now, steady in its focus. “If I had to guess… he died from thermal injury and smoke inhalation. The body’s been in here for hours at least.”

Portia stepped closer “How many?”

Autumn hesitated, running her gaze along the edges of the oven door, where the heat had discolored the steel. “Hard to say without bone visibility. The charring’s extensive. A couple hours at least. Long enough for muscle rigidity to set before complete carbonization.”

Blake grimaced “Meaning…?”

“Meaning whoever did this had time to make sure he wouldn’t be found until they wanted him to be.”

Her voice barely carried over the rain hammering the roof, but everyone heard her. A hush fell over the group again.

Autumn crouched lower, squinting toward the back of the oven cavity. The inside walls were coated with a thin layer of grease and black soot. No visible accelerant residue at least none that could be seen without lab testing but the even burn pattern told her the fire had been controlled, deliberate.

Not a sudden flash, sustained heat.

She reached for the oven dial, careful not to touch more than the edge of the knob with her gloved fingertips. The numbers had melted but she could still make out the faint imprint of “500°F” burned into the plastic.

Max temperature. She exhaled slowly. This wasn’t a spontaneous accident, this was execution.

“Autumn,” Blake said softly “You don’t have to-”

“Yes, I do.”

He didn’t argue after that.

She leaned in closer, focusing on details, anything that could help later. The faint scorch marks on the tiled floor around the base of the oven suggested it had been running for a while before anyone noticed. The hinges were warped, the handle cracked but still intact.

A single, melted scrap of white cloth, part of a towel, maybe was fused to the corner of the door. She reached out with her gloved hand and brushed it lightly with the back of her finger. It disintegrated immediately into ash.

Autumn froze, her pulse quickening. Whatever had happened here, it had been clean, too clean. Whoever did it had known what they were doing or at least knew enough to destroy evidence.

She glanced back at the others. None of them were moving. Adrianna’s eyes were red-rimmed, her face pale. Andy looked ill. Crow stood near the doorway, silent and still, his expression unreadable.

Ruby sat at the table now, Portia kneeling beside her, whispering something that didn’t seem to reach her.

The sound of the rain grew louder, heavier. The entire motel groaned under the weight of it. Autumn turned back toward the oven, the heat still pulsing against her face.

The smell, thick and acrid, clung to her skin despite the gloves. She swallowed the bile rising in her throat. She adjusted her flashlight and leaned a little closer.

At the very back of the oven cavity, something glinted faintly through the char. She squinted, angling the beam. It was a ring, melted onto what remained of the middle finger. The metal had warped but still held its rough shape.

She stared at the ring for a long moment before forcing herself to pull back. Her gloves were slick with sweat.

She peeled them off carefully and dropped them into the open trash bin beside the counter.

Turning toward the group, she took a slow breath. “We’ll need to secure the area. No one touches anything, no counters, no handles, nothing. Whoever did this could’ve left prints.”

Portia looked lost, as though her mind was still trying to process what her eyes had seen “You think it was one of us?”

Autumn didn’t answer right away. Her eyes flicked toward the hallway, the one that led back toward the lounge, the basement, the rooms. The corridor stretched dark and silent, only the faint reflection of lightning sliding across the wet floor.

“It had to be someone inside,” she said finally. “The doors were locked, no one’s been in or out since the storm started.”

Blake nodded grimly “Then we’re trapped with a murderer.”

The words seemed to hang there, heavy and real for the first time. No one spoke after that.

The storm built into a roar.

Every few seconds, lightning flashed through the thin curtains over the kitchen window, illuminating the room in stuttering bursts of white. Each time, the body inside the oven appeared anew stark, glistening, monstrous.

Autumn tried to focus on procedure. She took quick notes on a scrap of paper from the counter:

• Body found inside industrial oven, door latched externally.

• Charring consistent with 3–4 hours exposure to high heat (approx. 500°F).

• Evidence suggests victim alive during ignition.

• Burn pattern symmetrical, no obvious accelerant.

Her handwriting trembled despite her efforts.

She could feel Blake’s gaze on her “You okay?” he asked quietly.

She didn’t look up “I’ve seen worse.”

He hesitated “You don’t sound like it.”

Autumn stopped writing “No one gets used to this, you just learn how to keep breathing.”

She folded the paper and tucked it into her jacket pocket. The room seemed to tilt slightly around her, the air vibrating with the noise of the storm.

She turned toward the group again “We’ll move into the lounge for now. It’s cooler there and we need to talk about what comes next.”

No one disagreed but as they began to shuffle toward the doorway, Ruby suddenly straightened.

Her voice cracked “He was fine, he was just angry.”

Portia touched her arm “Ruby, don’t-”

“He was alive like what an hour or so ago,” Ruby said again, louder this time, her voice bordering on hysteria “How could this happen in an hour?”

Autumn met her eyes “It didn’t.”

The words silenced everyone.

She pointed toward the oven “Based on the level of carbonization, the fire was burning long before dinner ended. He must’ve been taken right after he left the lounge. That’s why we didn’t hear anything.”

Ruby’s face went blank, her breath catching “You’re saying he was-”

Autumn interrupted softly “Alive when we sat down to eat.”

No one spoke after that. The rain beat harder against the walls, thunder rolling close enough to shake the cutlery in its drawers.

Blake stepped to the window, watching the reflection of lightning flash across the empty parking lot. “Storm’s not letting up,” he said.

Autumn turned her gaze back to the oven one last time. The body inside was beginning to cool, the glow fading from orange to gray. A thin line of smoke drifted upward, curling through the broken seal at the top of the door.

It reminded her of incense, the kind burned at vigils and funerals. Her chest ached. She backed away, her hands trembling slightly as she reached for her flashlight.

“Let’s go,” she said softly “There’s nothing more we can do right now.”

She turned toward the others, her face pale but steady. The group began to move as one, slowly, reluctantly toward the hall. Behind them, the storm continued to rage.

The last thing Autumn saw before she turned off her light was Hemmingway’s ring catching the dim glow from the window, a faint, warped circle of gold amid the black.

The rain hadn’t stopped. It beat against the windows in sheets, blurring the outside world into gray streaks. The neon sign that had once glowed COLD RIVER MOTEL was now just a faint pulse of red light bleeding through the storm.

Inside, the group gathered in the lounge. The fire in the hearth had long gone out, leaving only the occasional pop from the wet wood as the heat faded from the bricks. The air smelled faintly of smoke and something worse, the burnt sweetness of the kitchen clinging to their clothes.

No one spoke at first.

Autumn stood near the window, her hands braced on the sill, staring out at the storm but not really seeing it. Blake leaned against the wall behind her, his face half in shadow.

The others had spread out around the room, each trapped in their own version of shock.

Adrianna sat on the floor with her knees pulled to her chest, eyes glassy. Kawayan had retreated to one of the armchairs, sketchbook open again, his pencil moving slowly though the page remained mostly blank. Andy paced back and forth near the doorway, rubbing the back of his neck.

Ruby hadn’t stopped shaking. She sat on the couch with Portia beside her, a blanket draped over her shoulders though she was still trembling. Her mascara had bled down her cheeks, and her hands wouldn’t stay still.

Crow stood off to the side, near the fireplace, silent and motionless. The faint glow of the dying embers reflected in his eyes like the last light in an empty church and the Dantrees, Floyd and Shirley, hovered near the hallway, still in the clothes they’d thrown on after hearing Ruby’s scream. Floyd’s face was pale, his jaw tight. Shirley’s hands were clasped around a small gold chain that hung from her neck.

The silence stretched on, broken only by thunder. Then Autumn turned from the window.

Her voice was quiet but sure “We can’t stay in here.”

Everyone looked up.

“The body’s going to start decomposing faster with the heat from the oven,” she continued. “And if whoever did this is still in the building, staying together is our best option.”

Andy stopped pacing “So what, we all stay in this room together?”

Portia rubbed her forehead, her voice thin. “The phones are dead, the roads are flooded, we’re stuck until the storm clears.”

“Then we wait it out,” Adrianna muttered “We lock the doors and pray nobody else ends up in an oven.”

“That’s not good enough,” Autumn said “We don’t know what’s coming next.”

Ruby finally spoke, her voice was hoarse but steady “We need to leave.”

Blake frowned “And go where?”

“Anywhere but here.”

“The roads are gone,” Andy said “You can’t drive through a flood.”

Floyd cleared his throat “Our RV’s got clearance,” he said. “It can handle more than a regular car. If we leave slow and stick to the highway, we might make it through.”

Everyone turned toward him.

Shirley nodded quickly, clutching her cross tighter. “We can fit everyone if we squeeze in. We’ll drive until we hit a dry stretch. There’s bound to be a service station or another motel up the road.”

Portia blinked “You’d really risk that? You saw the road coming in, half of it was mud.”

“It’s better than waiting for whoever did this to come back,” Floyd said. “You people can stay if you want, but my wife and I are leaving.”

Ruby looked up, eyes wide “You can’t just-”

“We can,” he interrupted “And we will.”

Autumn exhaled “You’ll get stuck.”

“Maybe,” Floyd said, “but at least we’ll be stuck alive.”

The room went still again.

Blake pushed away from the wall, running a hand through his hair “He’s not wrong.”

Adrianna looked up from the floor “You’re not seriously thinking about piling into that tin can in a thunderstorm, are you?”

“Do you have a better idea?” Blake snapped.

The storm deepened outside, the wind screaming across the parking lot, carrying with it the sound of shifting debris and something metallic slamming against the motel sign.

Autumn crossed her arms, her mind spinning. Every instinct told her to keep everyone inside, contained, where she could control the scene but there was no control left to have, not with the power flickering, not with fear creeping into every corner of the room.

She could feel the panic starting to swell in the group. It moved like static… small, invisible sparks jumping from person to person.

Crow’s voice broke through softly. “Movement invites chaos,” he said “Running doesn’t make you safe. It makes you seen.”

Ruby turned toward him, her expression sharp “And standing still gets you killed.”

Portia touched her shoulder “Ruby, please-”

“No,” Ruby snapped. “He’s gone, someone burned him alive in our kitchen, and we’re just standing here waiting to be next.”

Her voice cracked on the last word, the sound swallowed by another roll of thunder.

Autumn’s tone softened “Ruby, sit down, you’re in shock.”

“I’m not in shock,” Ruby said, though her eyes told a different story “I’m scared, there’s a difference.”

Autumn didn’t argue.

Shirley’s voice trembled as she spoke “We’re leaving, now. You can follow or you can stay, but we’re not waiting here another minute.”

Floyd nodded “We’ll get the RV ready.”

He took her arm gently and guided her toward the hallway. Their footsteps echoed down the corridor, fading toward the back of the building where the side door led to the lot.

The sound of the storm rushed in through the cracks in the walls.

For a brief moment, the others just stood there, listening to the distant rattle of the wind and the heavy drumming of rain on the roof.

Adrianna whispered, “They’re insane.”

Andy rubbed his temples “They’re terrified.”

“So are we,” Blake said.

Autumn opened her mouth to respond but she never got the chance.

The explosion ripped through the night.

It started as a deep, guttural boom that shook the floor beneath their feet. A flash of orange light cut through the windows, followed by the sharp, concussive thud of air collapsing inward.

Every head turned toward the sound.

“What the hell-” Blake started, but the rest of his sentence was drowned out by the echoing blast that followed a second eruption, sharper this time, punctuated by shattering glass from the front window.

Portia screamed and Ruby covered her ears.

Autumn was already moving “Go!”

They bolted toward the front doors. The storm met them head-on, wind and rain slamming into their faces as they spilled out into the parking lot. The air smelled of smoke again, thicker now, mixed with gasoline and metal.

The night sky was bright with flame.

The Dantrees’ RV burned at the far end of the lot, the fire raging from the engine compartment and crawling fast across the aluminum siding. The heat hit like a wall even from thirty feet away.

The group froze under the rain, soaked instantly, their clothes plastered to their skin. For a moment, none of them could speak.

Floyd and Shirley stood closest to the fire, their silhouettes illuminated by the blaze. Shirley’s hands were pressed against her face, Floyd staggered back a step, shouting something that the wind tore away before anyone could hear.

Blake grabbed Autumn’s arm “Is anyone inside?”

She shook her head, her voice barely audible. “They hadn’t started the engine yet, they were still in the hallway.”

“Then what-”

Another pop from the RV cut him off, a propane tank exploding, sending a shower of sparks skyward. The blast threw a wave of hot air across the lot. Ruby screamed again. Adrianna ducked behind a parked car, her hands covering her head.

The flames rose higher, licking at the black sky. The rain hissed against the fire, steam rolling across the pavement like smoke from a furnace.

Autumn’s pulse pounded in her ears. She could feel the heat even through the downpour.

Floyd stumbled forward, shouting into the roar of the storm, “Someone help me get it out! The extinguisher, there’s an extinguisher in the-” But the words dissolved into another crash of thunder. The RV’s side window burst outward, glass scattering across the asphalt.

Autumn pulled him back by the arm “You can’t get close!”

Floyd twisted against her grip, his eyes wild “Everything we own is in there!”

Shirley’s voice broke, high and sharp “Floyd, no!”

He stopped, breathing hard, his face wet with rain and tears. The reflection of the fire glowed in his eyes.

Blake came up beside Autumn, shielding his face with one arm “We need to move them back.”

She nodded, shouting over the storm, “Everyone get to the side of the building!”

Portia and Andy hurried to Ruby, pulling her toward the wall as another burst of heat rolled through the lot. Adrianna followed, her soaked hair plastered to her face, eyes wide and unblinking. Kawayan clutched his sketchbook to his chest like it was the only thing keeping him steady.

Crow lingered at the edge of the parking lot, his face lit by the orange glow. The rain dripped from his hair, but he didn’t move until Autumn grabbed his sleeve.

“Crow!” she yelled “Come on!”

He blinked slowly, eyes fixed on the fire. “Balance,” he murmured, almost to himself “Something’s been restored.”

She yanked him back “Move!”

They gathered beneath the overhang of the motel’s front entrance, the storm pouring down just inches away. The fire painted the entire sky red-orange, reflecting in the puddles at their feet. The sound of burning metal filled the air, hissing and groaning as the structure of the RV warped and collapsed inward.

Floyd sank to his knees, staring out at the blaze. Shirley knelt beside him, one hand on his shoulder, sobbing quietly.

Portia wrapped her arms around Ruby, both of them trembling. Andy leaned against the wall, breathing hard, his glasses fogged from the heat and rain.

Adrianna crouched low, her face buried against her arms, whispering something over and over that no one could hear. Kawayan stood beside her, sketchbook still clutched in his hand, watching the fire as if trying to memorize it.

Autumn and Blake stood a few feet apart, both staring at the flames. Lightning flashed again, followed by another clap of thunder that seemed to shake the entire parking lot.

Autumn wiped the rain from her eyes, her voice barely above the sound of the storm “This wasn’t an accident.”

Blake looked at her “You think it’s connected?”

She nodded slowly “Too much coincidence. Hemmingway dies, now this? It’s methodical.”

“Then whoever’s doing it isn’t done yet.”

The fire flared again, swallowing what was left of the RV’s roof.

Autumn’s chest tightened. The rain couldn’t put it out fast enough, it only made it hiss, like the earth itself was trying to breathe against the heat.

For a moment, she thought she heard something else beneath the storm, the faint sound of metal groaning, a pop like a gunshot, and then the steady drip of rain hitting scorched steel.

The air smelled of burning rubber and propane.

Her stomach twisted.

She looked back toward the dark outline of the motel. Every window reflected the orange light of the fire. From this angle, the building looked hollow, its empty rooms staring back at them like black eyes.

The storm raged on and the longer she stared, the more certain she became of one thing, whoever had started this wasn’t finished.

Chapter Text

The rain had turned relentless.

It pounded the motel roof in deafening waves, wind howling down the chimneys and rattling the windows. The orange glow from the burning RV still pulsed through the rain-streaked glass, throwing fractured light across the lounge.

Everyone was drenched, shaken, and silent.

The air inside was humid, thick with the smell of smoke and wet clothing. Ruby sat curled on the couch, trembling under a blanket that Portia had wrapped tightly around her. Neither woman spoke. Portia’s hand rested on Ruby’s back, moving in slow circles, though her own fingers trembled just as badly.

Across the room, Floyd and Shirley stood near the door, both still in shock. Floyd’s jaw worked but no words came, Shirley’s hands were clasped around the small chain that hung from her neck. They’d been strangers less than a day ago, just travelers whose RV had broken down on their way through. Now they were witnesses, trapped with a group they barely knew, watching hell unfold.

Autumn stood by the window, dripping from the storm, staring out into the blackness. Blake hovered near her, arms crossed, hair plastered to his forehead. Adrianna had collapsed into one of the armchairs, her knees pulled tight against her chest. Andy paced by the far wall. Kawayan leaned against the bar, sketchbook closed, head down.

And Crow, Crow stood near the fireplace, his reflection faint in the dark glass above it, face unreadable.

The thunder rolled again, shaking dust from the rafters.

Portia broke the silence first “We need to talk about what we’re going to do.” Her voice came out rough, barely louder than the rain.

Blake laughed quietly, a sound without humor “You mean besides die one by one?”

“Not helping,” Andy muttered.

“I’m serious,” Blake said, “Look at us, we’re trapped. Power’s going out, phones are dead, and now there’s a killer somewhere in the building.”

“Don’t,” Ruby said, voice cracking “Don’t say that.”

“It’s true,” Blake snapped “Someone burned Hemmingway alive. That wasn’t an accident.”

Ruby flinched, Portia’s hand tightened on her shoulder “Stop,” she said softly. “You’re not making this better.”

Blake exhaled, running a hand over his face “I’m making it real.”

Autumn finally turned away from the window. “Arguing won’t change the facts, the roads are flooded. We can’t leave until the water drops.”

“Maybe not by car,” Floyd said, his voice shaking slightly, “But we could walk. If we follow the tree line-”

“In this storm?” Autumn interrupted. “You wouldn’t make it a mile. The current would pull you off the road before you saw the river.”

Shirley’s voice was thin “We can’t just stay here. Not after… that.”

“We have to,” Portia said “Until morning at least. The phones are dead, and the satellite link for the motel’s Wi-Fi went out hours ago, I checked.”

“Then we’re cut off,” Andy said quietly.

No one disagreed.

The silence grew heavy again.

Adrianna rubbed her temples, muttering, “So that’s it? We just wait?”

Crow’s calm voice cut through the stillness “Waiting isn’t the same as surviving.”

Blake shot him a look “Here we go.”

Crow ignored it “Fear breeds mistakes. Mistakes kill faster than storms.”

Kawayan looked up from the bar “Are you saying we’re next?”

Crow’s eyes moved across the room “Someone is.”

Ruby shuddered “Don’t talk like that.”

“I’m talking about reality,” Crow said softly. “A man burned to death in a locked kitchen. An RV exploded with no clear cause. The only logical conclusion is that someone here made those things happen.”

Floyd swore under his breath “You’re saying one of us did it?”

Crow didn’t answer.

Portia looked between them, her voice trembling “No, that’s impossible, we were all together.”

“For the séance,” Crow replied “Not before.”

Autumn’s stomach tightened.

Andy stepped forward, shaking his head “This isn’t helpful. You’re just stirring things up.”

Crow’s expression stayed neutral “Truth doesn’t need stirring. It surfaces on its own.”

Blake’s voice rose suddenly “If you’ve got something to say, say it. Who do you think did it?”

“I don’t think,” Crow said “I observe.”

“Observing people die doesn’t make you a prophet,” Blake snapped “It makes you complicit.”

“Enough,” Autumn said, but Blake kept going.

He pointed at Ruby “You want suspects? Start with her. She’s the one who planned this whole event. She invited us here. She hired Hemmingway. She’s the one who wanted this place to be famous again.”

Ruby stared at him, horrified “You think I-”

“You had access,” he said “You knew the kitchen layout, the electrical systems, all of it.”

Portia rose, her tone sharp “Stop it right now.”

Blake didn’t “You and your wife staged half this circus already. Maybe this was just the next act.”

Ruby stood, shaking “You bastard. You think I’d kill someone for publicity?”

“I think you’d do anything for attention.”

Portia stepped in front of Ruby “You’re out of line.”

“No,” Blake said “I’m paying attention. Which is more than the rest of you are doing.”

Andy moved between them, voice steady but strained “We don’t know what happened yet. Accusing each other isn’t going to help.”

Blake barked out a humorless laugh “What do you suggest? Another séance? Maybe the ghosts can confess for us.”

“Stop,” Autumn said again, louder this time.

But the tension had already broken.

Adrianna pointed suddenly toward Crow “Why don’t we talk about him? He’s been saying weird crap since the second we got here.”

Crow smiled faintly “Weirdness is subjective.”

“You’re the one who said the séance ‘opened the veil,’” she snapped. “Then suddenly people start dying? That’s a hell of a coincidence.”

“I didn’t kill him,” Crow said simply.

“Prove it.”

He tilted his head “Can you prove you didn’t?”

Adrianna’s face flushed “You’re insane.”

Crow’s calm expression didn’t waver “Insanity would require fear. I have none.”

“That makes one of us,” Kawayan muttered.

The group splintered further.

Floyd crossed his arms, pacing near the door. “Look, maybe you’re all friends or colleagues or whatever, but my wife and I don’t know any of you and right now, I don’t trust a damn soul in this room.”

Shirley nodded, eyes wide “We should leave. I don’t care if it’s raining or not. I’m not staying here another night.”

“You’ll drown if you try,” Autumn said quietly.

“Then I’ll drown,” Floyd said “Better than waiting around to be murdered.”

The word landed hard. Ruby sank back onto the couch, whispering something that Portia didn’t catch. Portia sat beside her again, arm around her shoulders, murmuring reassurance that neither of them seemed to believe.

Blake moved closer to the fire, rubbing at his arms “You realize the killer could be listening to all of this, right? Watching us argue and taking notes.”

Andy sighed “You’re not helping.”

“Maybe I don’t want to help,” Blake said “Maybe I just want to stay alive.”

Kawayan finally spoke again, voice low “Then maybe stop talking.”

Another clap of thunder shook the walls. The lights flickered and steadied.

Autumn sat down again, hands clasped in her lap. Her eyes moved from one face to another. Every one of them looked exhausted, terrified, and dangerous in their own way. Fear had stripped them down to something raw and unpredictable.

Crow was right about one thing: fear made people reveal themselves.

Ruby’s breathing was shallow. Portia’s arm had gone still against her back. Floyd stood by the window, his jaw tight. Adrianna’s leg bounced in small, nervous movements. Kawayan’s eyes darted constantly toward the door, as if measuring escape routes. Andy kept muttering about logic, about facts and order, as though words alone could restore structure and Blake… Blake looked ready to break something.

He turned toward Autumn “You haven’t said a word.”

She met his gaze but didn’t answer.

Ruby’s voice joined in, small but sharp “Yeah, you’ve been awfully quiet through all of this.”

All eyes turned to her then. The circle of attention tightened around the table. The only sound was the rain.

Portia tried to speak, but her voice wavered “Don’t start turning this on her.”

“No,” Blake said. “It’s a fair question. She’s been calm through all of it. The prank, the séance, the chef, the RV. You don’t even look scared.”

Autumn’s jaw tensed.

Adrianna leaned forward “You’re the scientist, right? The forensic expert. You know how to… clean up scenes. You could’ve done this.”

Autumn’s gaze snapped to her “You think I put a man in an oven?”

“You’re the only one who didn’t panic when you saw him,” Adrianna said “You just went right to work. Like it was nothing.”

“That’s my job,” Autumn said evenly.

“Or it’s practice,” Adrianna shot back.

“Enough!” Andy said “Stop it!”

“Don’t tell me to stop!” Adrianna shouted “You saw her! She had gloves ready, she touched the evidence before anyone else-”

“Because no one else knew what they were doing,” Blake interrupted “She was trying to help.”

Adrianna’s voice wavered but stayed loud “Or she was covering her tracks.”

Portia stood up suddenly, her face pale. “You’re out of line.”

“Am I?” Adrianna demanded. “She’s been calm, collected, too calm. People don’t just act like that after seeing a body unless they’ve seen a lot of them or made them.”

Ruby buried her face in her hands “Please stop.”

Crow’s quiet voice cut through “You fear what you admire.”

Adrianna spun toward him “Shut up, Crow!”

He smiled faintly “You envy her composure.”

“I envy people who aren’t psychopaths,” Adrianna snapped.

The room erupted again, voices overlapping, accusations, protests, the scrape of a chair tipping over.

Floyd shouted for quiet, but no one listened. The storm outside seemed to match their volume, thunder booming loud enough to rattle the windows.

Autumn stayed seated, her face unreadable.

She could feel it now… the shift, the edge between panic and something colder. It wasn’t fear anymore. It was exhaustion. The same conversation had looped itself into madness, the same accusations repeated until they lost meaning.

Her pulse steadied.

Blake caught her eye from across the room, his face tense. He gave a small shake of his head, a silent warning nut the noise drowned out everything.

The group was unraveling faster than she could stop them.

Ruby stood again, voice breaking “Please… please, can we just stop shouting for five minutes?”

Portia guided her back down, whispering, “It’s okay, baby. It’s okay.”

But nothing about the room was okay.

Kawayan muttered something about lights and shadows. Andy was talking over him about logic and timing, trying to impose structure on chaos. Floyd stared at the door like he might bolt at any moment, and Shirley wept quietly beside him, fingers white around her cross.

Crow’s voice slid through the noise again “The killer doesn’t need to hide. We’re doing the work for them.”

That silenced them briefly.

Then Blake said, “He’s right.”

Adrianna turned on him “Don’t you start.”

“We’re falling apart,” Blake said “And whoever’s behind this knows it.”

His eyes flicked toward Autumn “Unless it’s you.”

Autumn looked up slowly, her face calm.

The storm cracked again, lightning washing the room in brief white. The air felt sharp, electric.

Every pair of eyes was on her now. She could feel the question before anyone spoke it. Why are you so quiet?

Autumn leaned back slightly, exhaling. The noise faded to a dull hum around her, the storm outside swallowing their breathing.

Her fingers brushed the edge of the table and though she hadn’t spoken yet, there was something in her posture, a tension gathering, a spark about to ignite that told everyone she was done being quiet.

The storm howled against the windows, rattling the glass like a warning. Rain hammered the roof so hard it sounded like the world itself was trying to break in.

Autumn stood at the edge of the table while the others stared at her.

“She’s too calm,” Adrianna said, her voice shaking but loud. “Look at her, she hasn’t flinched since this whole thing started.”

Ruby rose halfway from the couch, her blanket slipping from her shoulders. “She was the first one at the oven. She touched the body before anyone else did.”

“I had gloves,” Autumn said evenly.

“Exactly,” Adrianna shot back “Who the hell just carries gloves around unless they plan on using them?”

“I’m a forensic anthropologist,” Autumn replied “I always have them.”

Andy stepped between them, hands up “Enough, all of you.”

Blake stood nearby, jaw tight, eyes moving from Adrianna to Autumn. “She’s right about one thing, though. You’re quiet… almost too quiet.”

Autumn didn’t answer.

The wind roared again outside, the neon sign sputtering red light through the curtains.

Floyd leaned forward, voice low and suspicious. “Maybe she’s not quiet because she’s calm, maybe she’s quiet because she already knows how this ends.”

Ruby gasped “You can’t just-”

“I can,” Floyd snapped “My RV’s gone, my life’s gone, and she’s been standing there analyzing us like specimens.”

“Because that’s what she does,” Blake said quickly “She’s trained for this.”

“Or she’s rehearsed,” Adrianna muttered.

That one landed. Everyone turned toward Autumn again. Even Crow’s eyes seemed to sharpen, reflecting the faint glow of the dying fire.

The air in the room felt charged, brittle, like one spark could make it explode.

Autumn took a slow breath, her hands tightening at her sides. She had stayed quiet through all of it, the dinner, the séance, the discovery letting them argue while she tried to think but now their voices blurred together into static, a mix of accusation and panic that pressed against her chest until she couldn’t breathe.

She straightened.

“Enough.”

The word wasn’t loud, but it carried. Every voice stopped. Even the storm seemed to hush for half a heartbeat.

Autumn stepped away from the table, her eyes steady, her tone cutting through the tension like glass.

“You want to know why I’m quiet?” she asked. “Because someone here is a murderer and unlike the rest of you, I’d rather listen than hear myself panic.”

No one moved. Adrianna’s mouth opened, but Autumn kept talking, her voice growing sharper, faster.

“But if you really need me to say something, fine. Here it is. Whoever killed Hemmingway, whoever locked him in that oven and let him burn, you’re not clever, you’re not brave, you’re a coward.”

The room went still.

“You took a man by surprise,” she said, her tone measured, almost clinical. “You waited until no one was watching, and you killed him in a way that made sure he couldn’t fight back. You want that to mean you’re powerful? It doesn’t, it means you’re weak.”

The thunder outside rolled long and low. Ruby flinched, Portia reached for her hand.

Autumn turned toward the rest of them, the candlelight flickering across her face. “Cowards hide behind surprise attacks, behind masks, behind darkness. They need those things to make themselves feel big because if they had to stand in the open, if they had to look someone in the eye, they’d crumble.”

Her voice dropped to almost a whisper “They always do.”

No one dared to speak. Even Crow’s mouth had gone still.

Autumn’s gaze swept the room “If the killer is planning to do it again, to any of us, to me then they can stop pretending. They can come out right now, no tricks, no masks, no waiting for thunder to cover the sound.”

The words hung heavy in the air.

“Do it now,” she said quietly “In the open, face me like a man, you fucking pussy.”

The wind shrieked outside, rattling the old wooden door. No one moved. For several long seconds, all that existed was the sound of the storm and the faint hum of the dying generator.

Blake’s throat worked as he swallowed hard “Autumn…”

She didn’t look at him. Her eyes stayed fixed on the room, scanning every face, daring them to blink.

Portia finally spoke, voice trembling “You don’t provoke a killer.”

Autumn turned to her “I don’t hide from one either.”

Ruby stood, her voice sharp “You think this is courage? This is insanity.”

Autumn didn’t answer.

“You’re making yourself a target!” Ruby shouted.

Autumn’s lips curved slightly “Good.”

Floyd took a half-step back. Shirley clutched his arm, whispering something under her breath. Adrianna just stared, wide-eyed, as if she was watching someone she didn’t recognize.

Andy rubbed his forehead, muttering, “Jesus Christ…”

Crow smiled faintly, his voice low “Truth always sounds like madness before it becomes prophecy.”

Blake glared at him “Shut up, Crow.”

But Crow’s gaze never left Autumn “You’re drawing something out,” he said softly “You can feel it too.”

“I’m done feeling,” Autumn said “Now I’m waiting.”

For a long moment, no one spoke. The rain pounded harder, and lightning flashed through the window, bleaching every face white for an instant.

Adrianna broke the silence first “You’ve completely lost it,” she said. “You think speeches are going to stop this? Whoever’s doing it is probably laughing at you right now.”

Autumn’s tone stayed flat “Maybe but at least now they know I’m not afraid of them.”

Ruby’s breathing was ragged “You’re insane.”

“She’s angry,” Portia said softly “There’s a difference.”

Blake stepped closer to Autumn, his voice low “You’re not thinking straight. You can’t bait someone like that.”

“I’m not baiting,” Autumn said “I’m calling them out, cowards hide in silence.”

Blake shook his head “Or they wait for you to make mistakes.”

Autumn looked at him then, really looked at him and her voice softened just slightly. “I’m not making mistakes, I’m giving them a choice.”

“What choice?” he asked.

She met his eyes “Come for me now, or leave the rest of you alone.”

Another crack of thunder shook the building. The overhead light flickered, then steadied.

Adrianna sank back into her chair, pale “I can’t listen to this.”

Kawayan, who had been silent for minutes, spoke quietly “You sound like you want to die.”

Autumn turned toward him “I don’t want to die, I want this to end before it goes any further.”

“Same thing,” he said.

She didn’t argue.

Andy moved toward the bar, poured himself a drink, and downed it in one swallow. “We all need sleep,” he said, his voice rough “This is turning into a witch hunt.”

Ruby let out a short, bitter laugh “A witch hunt? There’s a body in the kitchen, that’s not hysteria, that’s survival.”

Portia rubbed her temples “We can’t keep yelling, It’s not helping.”

“It’s keeping us alive,” Blake said.

“Barely,” Andy replied.

The room sagged into an uneasy silence. Everyone stood or sat where they were, breathing hard, drenched in fear and fatigue. The sound of the storm filled the spaces between them.

Autumn’s outburst had drained something from the group… not calm, exactly, but noise. It was as if her words had pulled the last spark of denial out of the air, leaving only the truth, one of them was a killer, and the rest were trapped with them.

Blake finally spoke again, softer this time “We should stick together until morning.”

Adrianna scoffed “So they can pick us off in one go?”

“Or maybe so we stop losing our minds,” Blake said.

Floyd shook his head “My wife and I are staying in our room, locking the door, that’s final.”

Shirley nodded quickly “We’ll pray for daylight.”

“Pray for sense while you’re at it,” Adrianna muttered.

Portia helped Ruby back to the couch, her hand resting on her shoulder. “We all need rest,” she said “We’ll check the roads when the sun’s up.”

“If there’s a sun left,” Ruby whispered.

No one argued.

Crow drifted toward the door, his movements slow and deliberate. “Lock your doors,” he said again “It won’t stop anything, but it gives the illusion of control.”

Ruby’s voice broke “You talk like you know what’s coming.”

Crow paused, his eyes glinting in the dim light “I always know what’s coming.”

Then he disappeared down the hallway, his shadow stretching long and thin across the wall until the darkness swallowed it.

The others began to scatter after him. Adrianna grabbed a lamp and a half-empty bottle from the side table, muttering that she’d rather be drunk than terrified. Andy followed soon after, his shoulders hunched, clutching the same drink he’d poured minutes ago. Kawayan closed his sketchbook and moved toward the hallway, glancing once at Autumn before vanishing behind his door.

Floyd and Shirley were the next to leave, the faint smell of rain following them as they went. Their footsteps echoed briefly before the building swallowed the sound.

That left Ruby, Portia, Blake, and Autumn.

Portia turned to her wife “Come on, let’s go lie down.”

Ruby nodded weakly, letting Portia guide her toward the hall. Their wet footprints trailed behind them, fading as they disappeared.

When the door shut, only Autumn and Blake remained.

The fire had gone out completely now. The faint orange glow that had filled the room earlier was gone, replaced by the gray-blue of stormlight and shadow.

Blake leaned against the wall, crossing his arms “You really meant all that.”

Autumn looked at him “Every word.”

He studied her face for a moment “You scared them.”

“I wanted to.”

He nodded slowly “You scared me too.”

Autumn gave a small, humorless smile “Good.”

Blake sighed, rubbing the back of his neck “You can’t keep challenging ghosts, Autumn.”

“They’re not ghosts,” she said “They’re people, people hiding behind fear.”

“And what about you?”

“I don’t hide,” she said simply.

He stared at her for a moment longer, then shook his head, “Try not to get yourself killed before morning.”

She turned back toward the window “I’ll do my best.”

The storm’s reflection shimmered faintly in the glass, lightning flashing, rain streaking sideways. Beyond it, the faint glow from the burning RV had finally gone out, leaving only blackness and the faint hiss of wet earth cooling.

Blake hesitated in the doorway “You coming?”

Autumn didn’t look back “In a minute.”

He nodded, then left, his footsteps fading into the hall.

When she was alone, Autumn let out a slow breath. Her body trembled, though she wasn’t sure if it was adrenaline or cold. The motel groaned around her, the old wood settling with every gust of wind.

She turned off the last lamp, plunging the lounge into darkness, and stood for a long time watching the lightning flash beyond the windows.

Somewhere deep in the building, a door creaked. She didn’t move. The sound came again, faint, drawn out then stopped.

Autumn closed her eyes “Cowards hide in the dark,” she whispered to herself.

Her reflection in the glass looked back at her, pale and determined, as thunder shook the world apart outside.

Chapter Text

The storm hadn’t let up.

Rain hammered the windows of Autumn’s room, a steady, endless rhythm that blurred the sound of everything else. Wind slid through the cracks in the frame, carrying the faint smell of smoke from the burned-out RV. The motel groaned with every gust, its old bones shifting and settling like something alive.

Autumn sat on the edge of her bed, the small lamp beside her flickering. She hadn’t undressed. Her jacket was still on, her boots still damp from when she’d gone outside earlier.

She couldn’t make herself lie down.

The adrenaline from her outburst in the lounge had long faded, leaving behind an aching stillness that felt worse than fear. She’d expected confrontation, arguments, maybe even another fight but the quiet that followed had been heavier than any noise.

They’d all gone to their rooms eventually. The hallway had filled with the sound of closing doors, murmured voices, the soft metallic clicks of locks sliding into place and then, nothing.

Now the only light came from the weak glow of the lamp and the occasional flash of lightning cutting through the rain.

Autumn leaned forward, elbows on her knees, staring at the floorboards. They creaked faintly with every shift of her weight. The air was cool, heavy with the faint scent of damp wood and something metallic that lingered from earlier, the trace of heat and blood and ash.

She ran a hand through her hair, exhaled, and stared at her reflection in the window. The glass was streaked with rain, distorting her face into ripples of movement. The woman looking back at her seemed different… harder, sharper, tired in a way that went deeper than sleep.

She wondered briefly if she’d pushed too far earlier. The speech, the anger, the dare.
It hadn’t felt like courage at the time. It had felt like exhaustion. Like saying what everyone else was too afraid to say.

Now, sitting alone in the dark, she wasn’t sure if it had made her brave or just reckless. The power flickered once. The lamp dimmed, flared, then steadied again.

Autumn stood and crossed the small room. She checked the lock on the door… twice. The deadbolt slid firmly into place. She tested the window, making sure it wouldn’t open more than a few inches. The latch held.

She turned off the lamp. Darkness filled the room, deep and heavy. The only sound was the steady pulse of the rain.

She lay back on the bed, staring at the ceiling. Her body refused to relax. Every muscle felt wound too tight, every sound magnified, the groan of the wood, the faint hiss of the wind, the occasional drip of water outside her window.

Somewhere down the hall, a door creaked.

Her eyes snapped open again.

The sound was faint but real… a slow, dragging creak, followed by a soft thud… then silence.

Her pulse picked up. She pushed herself up on her elbows, listening.

Nothing.

She told herself it was just the storm. Old buildings did that. The wind found its way through cracks and made everything sound like footsteps.

Still, she sat there for a long moment, waiting. The creak came again, a little closer this time.

Her hand went automatically to the flashlight on her nightstand. She clicked it on, the beam cutting a clean line through the dark. The circle of light landed on the door. It stood still, locked, quiet.

Autumn held her breath. The sound didn’t come again.

After a moment, she turned the flashlight off and set it back down. She closed her eyes, forcing herself to breathe evenly.

Sleep didn’t come, but her mind drifted into a half-state, not rest, not wakefulness. The kind of daze where thoughts loop and replay and never land.

Her body jerked when a new sound broke through the storm.

A shout.

She sat up instantly.

The voice was faint at first, muffled by the walls and the rain… just a low, sharp noise that cut through the night. Then it came again, clearer this time.

Blake.

It was coming from across the hall.

Autumn was on her feet before she could think. She grabbed her flashlight, unlocked her door, and stepped into the hallway.

The air out there felt colder, thinner. A draft moved through from somewhere unseen, carrying the faint smell of rain and burned plastic.

“Blake?” she called quietly.

No answer.

Another noise, not a shout this time, but something between a yell and a grunt. Then a woman’s voice, muffled, laughing.

Autumn frowned and hurried across the hall. The door to Blake’s room was closed, light spilling faintly from underneath it.

She knocked hard “Blake? Are you okay?”

A sharp sound from inside… a thump, maybe, and a short, breathless laugh.

Autumn’s stomach clenched “Blake, open the door!”

No answer.

She reached for the handle, it wasn’t locked. The door swung open.

For half a second, her mind tried to process what she was seeing. Then color rushed to her face.

Adrianna stood in the center of the room, her blouse half unbuttoned, her hair a mess, eyes wide with surprise. Blake was on the bed behind her, handcuffed to the headboard, shirtless, flushed, and very much alive.

They both froze.

Autumn blinked. Her flashlight beam caught on the silver cuff chain and the reflection of Adrianna’s bare shoulder.

“Oh,” Autumn said, stepping back instantly “I… sorry.”

Adrianna opened her mouth to speak, but Autumn was already halfway out the door.

“Thought I heard-” she muttered, gesturing vaguely toward the hall “You were shouting.”

Blake’s face went bright red “Yeah, it's not what you think.”

Autumn nodded quickly, turning away “Right, of course.”

The door closed behind her, and she stood for a moment in the hall, staring at nothing.

Her pulse was still racing, but now for entirely different reasons. The absurdity of it, the timing, the panic, hit her all at once.

She took a long breath, exhaled slowly, and whispered to herself, “Unbelievable.”

The hallway was dark except for the occasional flicker of lightning through the narrow window at the far end. The rain had grown heavier, hammering against the roof so hard it almost drowned out the sound of her boots on the floor.

She started back toward her room.

The walls looked different in the stormlight, the wallpaper a dull, faded yellow that seemed to ripple with every flash of lightning. The air carried that old-building smell again… dust, damp wood, and the faint tang of mildew.

The building creaked. Autumn stopped for a second, tilting her head toward the sound.

It was coming from somewhere deeper down the hallway. The end that led to the lobby, the one no one had gone near since the fire. The floorboards sighed again, long and slow.

Her flashlight beam drifted that way, the light cutting across the walls. The shadows shifted, nothing more than the curtain moving in the draft, she told herself.

Still, her pulse climbed another notch. She turned back toward her door.

The room was dark when she entered, the air cooler than before. She closed the door behind her, locked it, and leaned against it for a moment, breathing in slow, steady pulls.

The encounter in Blake’s room still burned in her mind, absurd and human and completely out of place in a night like this.

She rubbed at the back of her neck and forced herself to focus on the familiar. She turned on the lamp. The light flickered once, weak but enough to chase back the darkness.

The room looked the same as she’d left it, bed unmade, coat draped over the chair, her notebook on the table beside the lamp. She crossed to the bed and sat down, elbows on her knees, staring at the floor again.

Her hand ached slightly from gripping the flashlight. She set it on the nightstand beside her, next to the small metal lamp and the folded gloves she hadn’t thrown away after examining Hemmingway.

The faint ticking of the wall clock filled the quiet.

She tried not to think about the day, about the fire, the oven, the smell of burnt flesh that still seemed to cling to her skin no matter how much she washed her hands but memory didn’t listen to reason.

She saw it again when she closed her eyes, the melted face, the ring fused to the bone, the way the body had looked almost posed. Her throat tightened, she opened her eyes.

She forced her breathing to slow and glanced at the window. The glass was fogged from the humidity, rain streaking down in long silver trails. Outside was nothing but black and the faint blur of trees swaying against the wind.

She stood and checked the lock again, even though she’d already done it twice. Still secure.

When she turned back toward the bed, she noticed something small, strange. The curtains moved slightly, though the window was shut tight.

Just the wind, she told herself, the draft again.

She crossed to it, ran her fingers along the edge of the sill. The latch was still locked. She pressed her palm to the glass… cold, solid, unmoving.

Lightning flashed, illuminating the room in white for a split second. In that flash, she thought she saw something reflected just behind her, by the door.

A shape. She spun, heart hammering. Nothing. Just her coat hanging from the chair.

She let out a slow, shaky breath and laughed under it, barely a sound “You’re losing it.”

The words didn’t help. The air felt wrong now… too still, too heavy. The storm’s noise seemed distant suddenly, muffled as though the walls were closing in.

She moved back toward the bed and sat down again, fingers tracing the edge of the nightstand. Her knuckles brushed against the lamp base.

Something flickered outside the window, movement, quick and faint. She turned, but there was nothing there. Just rain.

Her mind filled in the rest, the horns, the mask.

Autumn shook her head hard, trying to clear the image. The Baphomet costume was a prank, a sick joke Ruby had orchestrated. Nothing more, there was no reason to think it was back.

Still, her skin crawled. She reached up to switch off the lamp, but her hand hesitated.

The silence pressed in again, and for the first time since she’d entered the room, she wished she wasn’t alone.

Autumn leaned back against the headboard and stared at the ceiling. The light flickered again, dimming slightly before steadying.

She thought of Blake, of his startled face when she’d opened the door, of the absurd handcuffs, of Adrianna’s half-apology. She’d left too quickly to process any of it, her own embarrassment, his but now the image replayed in her mind, almost funny in its absurdity.

A laugh escaped her, small and dry. The sound felt foreign in the room. It died quickly. The clock ticked. The rain didn’t stop.

Somewhere, deep in the walls, a pipe moaned.

Autumn closed her eyes and told herself she’d sleep, just for an hour. Her body stayed tense, every nerve alert. She didn’t hear the first creak outside her door.

The scream came so fast, so raw, it didn’t sound like it belonged to a person at first.

Blake sat upright before his brain caught up with his body. The sound tore down the hallway, muffled through the walls but close.

Autumn.

He tried to sit up in bed quickly, but the cuffs stopped him, “Adrianna! Key!”

She flinched awake, hair tangled, eyes wide “What?”

“The key!” he barked “Now!”

She fumbled for it on the nightstand, dropping it once before managing to slot it into the lock. The metal cuff popped open.

He pulled free, already reaching for his shirt “Get dressed.”

“Blake, what’s going on?”

“Autumn just screamed.”

He yanked on his jeans, pulled his shirt over his head. Adrianna scrambled into her clothes, still half asleep, muttering curses.

They barely had their shoes on when another sound came… a dull, heavy thud. Then silence.

Blake was already out the door.

The hallway stretched ahead, dimly lit and trembling with the storm outside. The ceiling lights flickered under the pressure of wind and rain. The old building moaned with it, a long, shuddering breath that seemed to come from inside the walls.

Autumn’s door was slightly ajar.

“Autumn?” Blake called, moving fast.

No answer. He pushed the door open.

The small bedside lamp had fallen over, its light casting long, uneven shadows across the room. The air smelled faintly of copper and rain, the metallic tang of blood.

Autumn sat on the floor near the bed, her back to the wall, one hand pressed hard against her shoulder. Blood slicked the fabric of her shirt, dark and spreading.

“Jesus,” Blake breathed, crossing the room in seconds.

He knelt beside her, trying to see the wound “Autumn? Hey… hey, talk to me.”

Her face was pale but focused, her breathing shallow “He was here,” she said.

“Who?”

“Baphomet.”

Adrianna stopped in the doorway, eyes going wide “What are you talking about?”

Autumn swallowed hard “When I came back from your room… I didn’t lock the door. He must’ve slipped in then. I didn’t hear him until he was behind me.”

Blake blinked “You’re saying someone in that costume attacked you?”

She nodded weakly “Yes, the mask, the horns, same as thirty years ago.”

Her words hung there, heavy and electric. The storm rumbled overhead.

Blake’s stomach turned. He’d seen plenty of blood before, real blood, not movie red, not the kind that wipes clean. It didn’t bother him anymore, not after the Sigma Die Killer back at his fraternity. He’d seen worse but this, this was different. It wasn’t the gore, it was the silence that followed it.

He scanned the room quickly. Nothing looked disturbed except the fallen lamp and the chair knocked slightly off its leg. The window was shut tight. The latch was still in place.

Whoever did this hadn’t come or gone that way. The realization sank into his chest like a weight.

Adrianna’s voice shook “That’s impossible, Ruby’s Baphomet costume was just a prop. You all said it was one of her stupid pranks.”

“It was,” Blake said, “but the original killer wore that same thing. If someone brought it back…”

He didn’t finish.

Autumn pressed her hand harder against the wound, her fingers trembling “He didn’t say anything, just lunged.”

“You saw his face?”

She shook her head “Just the mask.”

Blake glanced toward the hall “We need help,” but before he could move, footsteps echoed outside, fast and heavy. Doors opening, voices rising.

“What happened?” Andy shouted.

Portia appeared first, robe tied tight, followed by Ruby, pale and wide-eyed. Floyd and Shirley came next, looking like they hadn’t slept in days.

Ruby froze in the doorway when she saw the blood “Oh my God.”

“She’s been stabbed,” Blake said.

Portia gasped “How-”

“Someone was in her room,” Adrianna said quickly “Someone dressed as Baphomet.”

The word landed like a curse.

Ruby stepped forward, shaking her head “That’s not funny.”

Autumn looked up at her, voice quiet but steady “I’m not joking.”

“I locked that costume away,” Ruby said “After the prank, the door’s still bolted shut.”

“Then someone found another one,” Andy said grimly.

“Or,” Floyd said, “someone never took it off in the first place.”

Shirley whispered something that sounded like a prayer.

The group fell silent. The only sound was the steady pulse of the rain and Autumn’s ragged breathing.

Blake straightened “Hemmingway was killed hours ago,” he said “And now this.”

Ruby looked like she might be sick “You think whoever killed him-”

“Is still here,” Blake finished.

Lightning flashed through the window, bleaching every face white.

Portia’s voice came out small “We hoped it was over.”

Blake’s tone was flat “It’s not.”

Autumn’s pulse thudded in her ears. The pain in her shoulder burned deep, but it wasn’t just the wound, it was the familiarity of the fear. She’d read about the original murders her whole career. She’d written her thesis on them and now, thirty years later, she was sitting in the same place, bleeding the same way, hunted by the same ghost.

Her hand slipped on the blood slicking her skin. Blake caught her wrist to steady it, his grip firm but careful.

“Easy,” he murmured.

She nodded once, keeping her eyes down “He ran when I screamed,” she said quietly “I hit him with the lamp.”

Blake’s flashlight beam slid across the floor, landing on the cracked ceramic base near the nightstand.

Andy crouched beside it “No prints, the blood might be his.”

“If there is blood,” Blake said.

Ruby stood near the door, trembling “This can’t be happening again.”

Portia wrapped an arm around her shoulders “It’s okay, baby, we’re okay.”

Ruby’s voice rose “No, it’s not okay. This is what I was afraid of. That this place would start to… repeat itself.”

“Ruby,” Portia warned softly but the words were already out there, and no one could bring themselves to disagree.

Thunder rolled across the hills outside, long and low. The lights flickered and steadied again. The storm pressed against the walls like an ocean trying to get in.

Blake crouched beside Autumn again “You sure you didn’t see anything? Height, build… anything?”

“Tall,” she said quietly “Bigger than me. Fast.”

“Male?”

She hesitated “Maybe.”

He nodded slowly.

Andy rubbed a hand over his face “We need to stay together from now on. No one goes anywhere alone.”

“That’s what we said after dinner,” Adrianna muttered “And look how well that worked out.”

Blake ignored her “We’ll take turns keeping watch tonight and tomorrow, when the storm clears, we find a way out.”

Portia looked doubtful. “You think the storm’s just going to stop?”

“It has to,” Blake said “It’s been going for hours.”

Ruby’s voice came soft but sharp “It was storming like this the night of the first murders too.”

That silenced everyone. For a moment, only the rain spoke.

Autumn’s vision swayed for a moment, the edges of the room flickering in and out of focus. She forced herself upright a little, blinking through the dizziness.

She could feel the air shift, their fear thickening it, making the room smaller.

Crow appeared then, silent in the doorway. His voice carried easily over the storm “The mask returns to where it was born.”

Ruby’s head snapped toward him “Get out.”

Crow ignored her “History repeats when it’s never buried.”

“Out,” Blake said sharply.

Crow’s gaze slid over Autumn, unbothered. “It’s not the first time blood’s been spilled here but maybe it will be the last.”

“Crow,” Blake growled, “get out.”

He gave a faint smile, then disappeared back into the hallway, his bare feet whispering against the wood. The door creaked as it swung slightly behind him.

Blake exhaled, jaw tight “We’re boarding that room of his shut in the morning.”

Autumn watched him without speaking. His steadiness calmed her, though she could tell it was costing him to keep his voice level. He was a survivor, she recognized it immediately. He’d seen things that stayed with him, she could see it in the way he looked at blood like it was an old memory.

Her breathing evened out. She leaned her head back against the wall and stared at the ceiling. The light above buzzed faintly, dimming with each flicker of thunder.

Her thoughts kept circling the same point, if it really was the Baphomet costume, then someone had planned this. Whoever had worn it thirty years ago was long dead. That meant someone here had decided to step into the same role.

Someone who knew what fear looked like and they were doing a good job recreating it.

Andy moved toward the door, rubbing his hands together “We should let her rest. We’ll figure out shifts for tonight.”

Portia nodded “I’ll stay up a while, I can check the halls.”

“Not alone,” Blake said.

Ruby flinched at his tone.

He softened slightly “Please, no one goes anywhere alone.”

She nodded, eyes still glassy “Okay.”

Blake turned to them all “Keep your doors locked and if you hear anything, yell. Loud.”

He looked back at Autumn, his expression unreadable “We’ll check on you in a bit.”

She nodded faintly “Okay.”

The group began to drift toward the door, moving slowly, hesitantly, as if leaving meant something final.

Blake stayed near the doorway, flashlight dim now, beam lowered toward the floor. The sound of the rain seemed louder in the emptying room.

Autumn sat still, her back to the wall, her blood-soaked sleeve sticking to her skin.

Their eyes met briefly, his worried, hers unreadable.

She gave a small nod “I’ll be fine.”

He didn’t answer. He looked like he wanted to say something but stopped himself.

Chapter Text

The hallway was quieter now.

Most of the others had drifted toward the lounge or back to their rooms, voices fading into the hum of the storm. The motel creaked in the wind, rain hissing steadily against the roof.

Blake hovered near Autumn’s door, flashlight beam low, debating whether to close it completely or leave it cracked like before. His pulse was still high with a mix of adrenaline, fear, and fatigue settling uneasily in his chest.

Autumn sat where he’d left her, back against the wall, one hand still pressed over her shoulder. The bleeding had slowed but hadn’t stopped entirely, the fabric of her sleeve was dark and clinging to her skin. She looked up when he turned toward the hall.

“Blake?”

He paused, “Yeah?”

Her voice was softer than it had been earlier, “Can you stay for a minute?”

He turned back toward her, “Of course.”

“I need my med kit,” she said, nodding toward the corner of the room where her duffel sat half-unzipped, “The small bag inside, right side pocket.”

He hesitated for half a beat, then crossed the room and knelt beside it. The duffel was heavier than it looked. Inside, he found exactly what she meant: a compact black case, military-style, organized and clean.

“You carry this everywhere?” he asked, handing it to her.

“I work with bones and bodies,” she said, “It pays to be prepared.”

Her tone was matter-of-fact, not boastful.

He sat back on his heels, watching as she unzipped the kit with her good hand, pulling out antiseptic wipes, gauze, and tape. The calmness in her movements was strange, deliberate and practiced.

“Shouldn’t you let someone else-”

“You can help me,” she interrupted, “If you don’t mind.”

He blinked, “Me?”

She nodded, “Unless you want me to use my non-dominant hand and risk sewing myself to the bedsheet.”

That earned a faint huff of laughter from him, “Point taken.”

Autumn’s voice stayed even as she gave directions, her tone closer to that of a teacher than a patient.

“There’s a bottle of saline in there,” she said, “Use that to flush the wound first.”

Blake found it easily, twisting the cap open, “You’re very calm about this.”

“I’ve been through worse,” she said simply.

“So have I,” he muttered, almost to himself.

Her eyes flicked up, “You mean your frat?”

He froze for a second, surprised she remembered, “Yeah.”

Autumn nodded once, like that made sense, “Then you know what to do, start by cleaning it gently.”

Blake moved closer, the floor creaking under his weight. The small 2nd lamp on the nightstand cast pale light across the room, just enough to make the air shimmer faintly with dust and rain humidity. He crouched beside her, unscrewed the cap, and leaned in.

“Hold still,” he said.

She didn’t flinch when the saline hit her skin. The blood diluted instantly, running down her arm in thin pink streams. He dabbed it with a sterile pad, careful not to press too hard.

“You’re good at this,” she murmured.

He gave a soft, humorless laugh, “I’ve patched worse things.”

Autumn’s eyes stayed on him, “You don’t strike me as the type to panic.”

“Neither do you.”

“I don’t,” she said, “Not anymore.”

The rain beat harder against the window, wind howling briefly before fading again. The world outside was nothing but noise. Inside, everything was still.

He couldn’t tell if her composure was comforting or unnerving.

She was pale but steady, her expression almost analytical like she was watching her own injury from the outside. He’d seen that kind of detachment before in trauma survivors and soldiers, people who had learned that emotion just slowed the work.

She didn’t cry, didn’t wince, just gave quiet instructions, efficient and focused.

He found himself studying her face while he worked, the way her eyes tracked every motion, her breathing slow and controlled. There was no fear in it. He couldn’t decide if that scared him more.

“Next,” she said quietly, “the antiseptic.”

He nodded, uncapping the small brown bottle, “This might sting.”

“I’d be disappointed if it didn’t.”

That earned another small, involuntary smile from him. He dabbed the solution onto a gauze pad and pressed gently around the wound. She sucked in a breath but didn’t move.

“Sorry,” he said automatically.

She shook her head, “Don’t be.”

For a long time, neither of them spoke. The quiet between them wasn’t awkward, it was heavy, suspended between the storm’s rhythm and the low hiss of rain against the glass.

Finally, she said, “You could’ve gone with the others, even though I asked you didn't have to stay and help.”

He shrugged, “I wanted to make sure you didn’t pass out.”

“Or you didn’t want to go back to Adrianna.”

That hit closer than he expected.

He looked up, “What makes you think that?”

Autumn tilted her head slightly, eyes narrowing in something like amusement. “You didn’t exactly look comfortable when I walked in earlier.”

He exhaled, chuckling under his breath, “You noticed that, huh?”

“I notice a lot,” she said.

“Yeah,” he muttered, dabbing at the edge of her wound, “So I’ve heard.”

He was gentler than she expected. His hands were steady, precise, the way someone learns to be after being forced to deal with things they shouldn’t have had to.

She watched him in silence for a while. He worked like someone who’d done this before not on himself, maybe, but on people he didn’t want to lose. There was something deeply human in the way he kept his touch light but deliberate.

Her shoulder throbbed, but she didn’t show it. Pain was data, not drama. She’d always believed that emotion clouded the details.

“Does it hurt?” he asked quietly.

“Of course,” she said, “But it’s manageable.”

He nodded, still focused on her arm, “You’re something else.”

“How so?”

“You got attacked, you’re bleeding, and you’re calm enough to walk me through a first aid demo.”

She smiled faintly, “I like to stay useful.”

He met her eyes then, just for a second, and something flickered there, an understanding neither of them wanted to name. Outside, the thunder cracked again, closer this time. The walls trembled faintly.

“You ever get tired of it?” Blake asked, surprising himself.

“Tired of what?”

“Keeping it together all the time.”

Autumn tilted her head slightly, “No.”

He gave a short laugh, “That tracks.”

“It’s better than falling apart,” she said.

“Maybe,” he said, “But sometimes falling apart is what proves you’re still alive.”

She didn’t answer that. Instead, she reached into the med kit and handed him a packet of gauze, “Use that and press firmly.”

He did as she said, placing the folded cloth over the wound. His hand brushed against her skin, cool and clammy under his fingers. For the first time since he’d entered the room, she winced.

“Sorry.”

“It’s fine,” she said, though her jaw tightened, “Just make sure it’s tight enough, pressure stops the bleeding.”

He glanced up, “I know.”

Her lips curved slightly, “Right, Sigma Die Killer.”

He blinked at her, “You really do remember everything.”

“I remember people,” she said. There was no flirtation in it, no softness just fact.

He kept working. The wound wasn’t deep, a clean puncture, maybe an inch and a half long but it was messy. Whoever stabbed her had either been sloppy or scared.

The image wouldn’t leave his mind… the mask, the horns, the heavy silence that followed. He knew everyone thought the same thing, that it couldn’t be real, that no one would be insane enough to repeat the original killings but someone already had.

Hemmingway.

He swallowed hard, forcing himself to focus on the task in front of him.

Autumn’s breathing had steadied again. Her composure didn’t crack once, even when the gauze stuck to the blood and tore slightly when he replaced it. She just kept giving directions quiet, calm, sure.

“Now the tape,” she said softly, “Two strips, diagonal.”

He tore the tape, smoothed it over the gauze. His hands brushed hers, cold against warm, and something unspoken lingered there. She was too calm and too steady. It made him wonder if she was even afraid.

“Do you think it was really him?” he asked suddenly.

“Baphomet?”

He nodded.

“I don’t know,” she said, “But it wasn’t Ruby.”

He believed her.

“You sure you didn’t see anything else? Shoes, clothes, height-”

“Tall,” she said, “Broad shoulders, the rest was shadow it just happened so fast.”

He nodded, finishing the last piece of tape. “Maybe it’s a copycat,” he said quietly.

Autumn’s voice was even, “Maybe but copycats don’t usually escalate this fast.”

He looked up at her, “You think we’re next?”

“I think whoever did this likes attention,” she said, “And they’re getting it.”

That landed harder than he expected. The air between them thickened, the storm pressing against the glass. The light flickered once but held. He realized he was still holding her arm, his thumb resting just above the edge of the gauze.

She noticed too, but didn’t move. She watched him, the way his brow furrowed slightly when he concentrated, the way he didn’t quite breathe until he was done with something.

She’d known men like him before, the kind who carried their guilt like armor but Blake’s quiet discomfort intrigued her.

He wasn’t flustered by blood, or even by her, he was flustered by control and by how calm she was and maybe, she thought, that was fair.

She’d stopped letting fear dictate anything a long time ago.

He adjusted the gauze one last time, his touch careful.

“Almost done,” he murmured.

She nodded, watching him more than she listened. The storm had settled into a softer rhythm, rain whispering against the walls like static.

Her arm throbbed, her skin sticky with sweat and antiseptic, but she felt oddly steady, the pain grounding her in something she could measure.

“You should let it breathe after a while,” Blake said, breaking the silence, “Pressure helps, but you don’t want it sealed too long.”

“Noted.”

He smiled faintly, “You’re a terrible patient.”

She tilted her head, “You’re an excellent nurse.”

He laughed softly, shaking his head, “Don’t start.”

The sound was quiet and human, it cut through the heaviness for a moment. Then the silence returned, thicker, more intimate.

The thunder rumbled again, distant this time. The rain slowed, turning into a rhythmic patter against the roof.

Autumn glanced toward the door, then back at him.

“You didn’t have to stay.”

“Yeah, I did.”

She smiled faintly, “Why?”

“Because everyone else looks at me like I’m supposed to know what to do,” he said, “And you look like you actually do.”

Autumn’s gaze softened just slightly, “That’s a dangerous assumption.”

He smiled again, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes, “I’ll take dangerous over useless any day.”

She didn’t respond. Instead, she nodded toward the med kit, “There’s one more strip of tape.”

He reached for it, his hand brushing hers again. The air seemed to shift, the space between them small, charged. The light flickered once, the sound of thunder distant now, almost lazy.

Blake tore the tape slowly, pressing it against the gauze.

Autumn stayed still, her breathing shallow but steady.

Neither of them said anything for a long time. The rain softened and the wind eased and in the flickering yellow light of the motel room, Blake kept working… slow, careful, silent as if patching her up might hold everything else together, too. The room felt smaller now.

The storm had quieted to a dull murmur against the windows, but the air inside was still heavy and thick with the scent of antiseptic, wet wood, and faint iron from the blood that had already dried on Autumn’s sleeve.

Blake pressed the final strip of tape down, smoothing the edge with his thumb.

“Done,” he said quietly.

Autumn glanced at her arm. The gauze was neat, precise, clean, “You did a good job.”

He leaned back, exhaling, “Guess I can add ‘amateur medic’ to my résumé.”

She smiled faintly, “It suits you.”

He chuckled softly, but it didn’t last long. The silence that followed wasn’t awkward, it was something else, something denser. The kind that comes when both people are too tired to fill the space with anything unnecessary.

Outside, thunder rolled far away, just a distant rumble now.

“Does it hurt?” Blake asked after a moment.

“It’s manageable.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

Autumn lifted her eyes to him, “Yes,” she said simply, “But it’s fine, pain keeps you alert.”

He studied her face for a beat, “You always talk like that?”

“Like what?”

“Like you’re narrating a crime scene.”

That earned the smallest laugh from her, “come with the territory.”

He smiled faintly, “You’re still making jokes.”

“You started it,” she said.

“Fair enough.”

He sat back against the wall beside her, his legs stretching out on the floorboards. For a while, neither spoke. The air buzzed faintly with the sound of the flickering lamp, the only light left on.

He ran a hand over his face, “You should get some rest.”

“So should you.”

“Can’t,” he said, “Every time I close my eyes, I see that damn kitchen.”

Autumn’s voice softened, “Hemmingway.”

He nodded slowly, “Yeah.”

They both sat in silence, the storm whispering against the glass.

He couldn’t shake the image, Hemmingway’s body folded inside that oven, skin blackened, smoke curling up the walls. He’d told himself he’d seen worse, but that wasn’t true. Not up close like that, not to someone he’d talked to a couple hours earlier.

Autumn, somehow, had stayed composed through it. She’d crouched there beside him, analyzing burn patterns, temperature estimates, like they were lab notes.

He’d admired her for it and envied her a little, too. Now, sitting beside her, he realized that same calm didn’t disappear even when she was the one bleeding. It wasn’t courage, exactly, it was something colder. A kind of focus that scared him a little.

He glanced at her. She was still studying the bandage like she was memorizing its texture, her free hand resting loosely in her lap.

“How’d you stay so steady?” he asked.

She looked at him, brow faintly furrowed, “During what?”

“All of it… dinner, the séance, finding Hemmingway, then this.”

She considered that, “I don’t think steady is the right word.”

“Then what is?”

“Detached,” she said quietly, “It’s different.”

He frowned, “You make it sound like a choice.”

“It is,” she said, “Fear’s biological, but panic is optional.”

He gave a short laugh, “You should put that on a motivational poster.”

Autumn smiled faintly, “You mock it, but it’s true.”

“Yeah,” he said, leaning his head back against the wall, “But you make it sound easy.”

“It isn’t,” she said, “It’s just practice.”

He was trying to sound casual, but she could hear the strain in his voice, the way he kept his sentences short, as if afraid of what might spill out if he spoke too much.

He’d been holding himself together all day, playing the voice of reason in a group of people unraveling but now, up close, he looked spent. The lines around his eyes were deeper than before, his shoulders slouched in exhaustion.

She felt a small, surprising pang of empathy for him.

“You shouldn’t carry it alone,” she said quietly.

He blinked, “What?”

“You have been through something similar,” she said, “and now it's happening again, that has to be traumatic but you're still somehow holding it together.”

He shrugged, “only on the outside.”

“It's okay to not be okay,” she said.

“I know,” he muttered, “It’s just… this isn't the time to panic like you said.”

She studied him for a moment, “What is it you don’t want to think about?”

He hesitated, then gave a humorless laugh, “Take your pick.”

“Hemmingway,” she said softly.

He exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck, “Yeah… him, that’s the big one.”

He looked up at her, “You think he suffered?”

She didn’t answer right away. Her voice, when it came, was quiet but sure, “Yes.”

Blake closed his eyes briefly, nodding once, like he already knew the answer.

She added, “But it was fast. Shock sets in before the nerves shut down. He wouldn’t have been conscious for long.”

“You sound certain.”

“I’ve seen what fire does,” she said.

The room went quiet again. Outside, thunder rolled, softer now, far away. The sound was almost comforting like the storm was finally starting to lose interest in them.

Blake glanced toward the door. It was still cracked open, a narrow sliver of hallway visible through it. The lounge lights flickered faintly in the distance.

He looked back at her, “You think it’s connected?”

“The murder?” she asked.

“Yeah, this… whatever it is. Someone wearing that mask again, after all these years.”

Autumn considered the question carefully, “I think it’s deliberate.”

He frowned, “Meaning?”

“Meaning it’s not random,” she said. “Not some unhinged stranger. Whoever did this knows what they’re recreating.”

Blake’s stomach tightened, “So you’re saying it’s one of us.”

She didn’t answer right away.

Finally, she said, “It’s statistically unlikely to be anyone else.”

“Right,” he said bitterly, “Because that’s not horrifying at all.”

Autumn gave him a small, knowing look, “You’d rather it be a ghost?”

He almost laughed, “At this point, maybe.”

The storm shifted outside, wind scraping against the roof. Somewhere, a door creaked faintly in the hall. They both turned toward the sound, instinctively still. Then silence.

Autumn’s voice stayed calm, “It’s just the wind.”

“Yeah,” Blake said softly, “Tell that to my nerves.”

She watched him a moment longer, then said, “You handled that better than most would.”

He snorted, “I threw up when I thought the killer was getting you.”

“You still came running.”

“Anyone would’ve.”

“No,” she said quietly, “They wouldn’t have.”

He looked at her, unsure what to do with that.

She met his gaze steadily, “You didn’t freeze, that’s rare.”

He exhaled slowly, looking away, “You talk about fear like you’ve studied it.”

“I have,” she said.

“Academically or personally?”

A pause, “Both.”

He didn’t push her to explain.

Instead, he reached for the tape again, smoothing one of the edges where it had started to peel. “You’re still bleeding a little.”

“It’ll stop,” she said.

He frowned, “You should’ve let Andy handle it.”

Autumn raised an eyebrow, “Andy is an academic, he's probably never even see something like this.”

“Fair point.”

She smiled faintly.

The longer he sat there, the less he wanted to leave.

He told himself it was because she shouldn’t be alone, because she was hurt but that wasn’t the truth. He just didn’t want to go back and be alone.

He could already picture what the others were doing, Ruby crying into Portia’s shoulder, Adrianna asking too many questions, Andy pacing like a trapped animal. It was all noise, fear disguising itself as conversation.

Here, at least, there was quiet. Autumn didn’t fill silence just to have it filled. When she spoke, it meant something.

He found himself watching her again, the way the lamplight caught the curve of her jaw, the steady rhythm of her breathing. She didn’t look fragile, even sitting there with blood on her sleeve. She looked… composed.

He wondered if she’d even let herself fall apart when this was over, if any of them would.

“Blake,” she said softly, breaking his thought.

He blinked, “Yeah?”

“Thank you,” she said.

He gave a small, lopsided smile, “For what?”

“For not leaving.”

He hesitated, then nodded once, “You’re welcome.”

Her gaze lingered on him a moment longer than necessary before drifting toward the window. The storm lightened again, the rain thinning to a faint, steady tap.

He was still sitting close, close enough that she could feel his body heat, the warmth cutting through the cold air.

It was strange, that kind of nearness. She wasn’t used to it. She’d spent years working with death, always one step removed from the living. People came to her for answers, not comfort but Blake wasn’t like the others. He wasn’t dissecting her calm or turning it into something clinical. He just sat there, breathing the same heavy air, trying to keep both of them anchored to something real.

“Does it ever bother you?” she asked suddenly.

He turned his head, “What?”

“Writing about what happened to you, reliving it.”

He thought for a moment before answering, “Yeah,” he said, “Every time.”

“Then why do you keep doing it?”

He gave a short, quiet laugh, “Because pretending it didn't happen doesn’t make it go away.”

Autumn nodded slowly, “You’re right.”

She looked at him again, and for a brief moment, something flickered across her face, not fear, not even sadness, but recognition.

The clock on the nightstand ticked faintly, each second louder than it should’ve been. Midnight had passed hours ago.

Autumn leaned back slightly, testing the bandage, “It’s holding,” she said.

“Good.”

“Thank you again.”

“You already said that.”

“Then I’ll say it twice,” she said softly.

He smiled, “You really don’t have to.”

“I know,” she said, “That’s why it matters.”

Their eyes met again, brief but weighted.

The storm outside had slowed to a drizzle now, the kind that sounds like static against the roof. The neon sign outside the window flickered faintly through the glass, its red glow pulsing against the wall.

Blake rubbed his thumb against the edge of his palm, restless, “You should try to sleep.”

“I will,” she said.

He stood slowly, stretching the stiffness out of his legs. “I’ll check on the others, make sure no one’s losing their minds yet.”

“Too late for that,” she murmured.

He grinned slightly, “Fair.”

He started toward the door, but before he could reach it, her voice stopped him.

“Blake?”

He turned back, “Yeah?”

Her tone was quieter now, more hesitant, “Would you mind staying a little longer? Just for a bit?”

He hesitated only a moment before nodding, “Yeah, sure.”

Autumn nodded once, her expression unreadable, “Thank you.”

He crossed back to the chair beside her bed, lowering himself into it. The wood creaked faintly under his weight. Neither of them spoke after that.

The storm hummed on, gentle now.

Autumn’s eyes closed slowly, her breathing evening out. Blake leaned back in the chair, the exhaustion settling in, the adrenaline finally ebbing.

The motel groaned softly around them, the kind of sound old wood makes when it remembers too much and for a few quiet minutes, just before the next wave of dread could find them… there was peace.

Chapter Text

The storm had simmered down to a steady drizzle, soft enough that you could almost forget it had been tearing the roof apart an hour ago. The motel was quiet now, the kind of quiet that made you hear your own heartbeat.

Autumn sat on the edge of the bed, one hand resting on her knee, the other gingerly pressed near the white bandage on her shoulder. She looked pale but together, in that way people do when they’re trying to convince themselves they’re fine.

Blake lingered by the chair near the wall, unsure whether he should say goodnight or stay put.

“You should probably sleep,” he said finally.

She gave a faint laugh, “You think anyone in this place is sleeping tonight?”

“Fair.”

A moment passed. The rain ticked against the window, steady as a metronome.

“I should clean up,” she said, “There’s blood everywhere.”

“Yeah,” Blake said, glancing at her shoulder, “You sure you can manage that with one arm?”

“I’ll figure it out,” She pushed herself up, swaying slightly, “Might take a while.”

He nodded, half-turning toward the door, then hesitated.

“Would you mind staying?” she asked suddenly, “Just while I’m in there.”

He looked back at her, “You mean stay in the room?”

“Yeah, I don’t think I’m ready to be alone yet.”

The admission was soft, almost embarrassed, but honest.

“Yeah,” Blake said quickly, “Yeah, of course.”

“Thanks.”

She walked toward the bathroom, and the dim yellow light spilled into the room as the door cracked open. The sound of running water filled the silence.

He sat in the chair again, elbows on his knees. The air smelled faintly like wet wood and antiseptic. He rubbed a thumb along the edge of his palm, restless.

“You don’t have to talk,” Autumn said over the water, “But if you do, I won’t tell you to shut up.”

Blake smiled to himself, “You say that now.”

She laughed, “Okay, maybe I’ll tell you once.”

“I’ll risk it.”

Steam started drifting from the crack in the door, “So where’re you from again?” she asked.

“Toronto,” he said, “Born and raised.”

“Canadian, explains the politeness.”

He snorted, “You’ve clearly never been to Toronto.”

“I have, actually.”

That caught him off guard, “Really?”

“Yeah, I went to school there for a while.”

He didn’t think twice about it, “Small world.”

“Guess so.”

She didn’t add that she remembered him from campus, the loud frat parties, the way his name was plastered all over the local papers after the killings. She’d been a quiet undergrad in a crowded lecture hall back then, he clearly didn't remember her.

After a beat, Autumn said, “So… what’s the deal with you and Adrianna?”

Blake groaned softly, “Oh God.”

“What? It’s a valid question.”

“Pretty sure it’s a nosy one.”

She laughed under the noise of the water, “Maybe both.”

He rubbed his face, sighing, “Nothing’s the deal with Adrianna. It was stupid, we were… uh, in the middle of something, and then you screamed.”

“I really know how to kill a mood, huh?”

He laughed quietly, “You have no idea, Adrianna’s gonna hold that against me forever.”

“Did you want to be doing that?” Autumn asked, voice casual but curious.

Blake hesitated, “Not really.”

“Then why were you?”

He shrugged even though she couldn’t see him, “Because she’s hot and I was drunk on adrenaline and bad decisions.”

“Sounds about right.”

“She was saying all this weird shit,” he went on, shaking his head. “Like how the whole murder stuff turned her on. I thought she was joking, but she wasn’t.”

“Yikes.”

“Yeah, I don’t know what the hell I was thinking.”

“You weren’t,” Autumn said simply.

He laughed, “Thanks for that.”

“I mean, you said it first.”

“Touché.”

For a few minutes, they were quiet except for the water. Steam filled the room, softening everything, blurring edges.

Autumn’s voice came again, “You write books, right?”

“Yeah,” Blake said, “One, just one.”

“The one about… your frat.”

He hesitated, “Yeah.”

She let a few seconds pass before saying anything else, “It’s good, I read it.”

He smiled faintly, almost self-conscious, “You’re the one.”

“I’m serious, It’s well written. You got the psychology right, how trauma messes with people’s timelines, how everyone remembers the same thing differently.”

“Thanks.”

She paused, her tone even, “Was it hard to write about?”

“Yeah,” he said quietly, “But it helped… kind of.”

“You talk about it a lot in interviews.”

“Yeah, well, that’s the thing about trauma, people love a survivor story. Publishers love it even more.”

“You don’t sound proud of it.”

He leaned forward, rubbing his palms together. “I don’t know if ‘proud’ is the word. It’s weird being known for the worst thing that ever happened to you, you know?”

“I can imagine,” Autumn said softly.

He nodded, then added, “The cops said it was just some kid from campus. Failed rush week, got humiliated, came back with a grudge. Six people dead, I got lucky.”

His voice tightened a little at the edges, but his expression didn’t change.

Autumn’s heart twisted as she listened. She remembered the real headlines, the rumors that never made it into the police report… the inconsistencies, the contradictions, the way Blake’s version didn’t quite line up with the forensic data. She’d studied those details back in school, even then knowing something about it didn’t feel right but she said nothing.

“You were hurt too, weren’t you?” she asked instead.

He nodded, “Yeah, Shoulder, ribs. Knife wound. Spent a week in the hospital.”

“That sounds awful.”

“It was,” he admitted, but his tone was flat, distant. “But everyone wanted the ‘hero’ story, you know? The survivor who fought back. They didn’t want to hear about the guy who just happened to live.”

“You risked your life for your girlfriend,” she said carefully, quoting the public version.

He gave a small, humorless smile, “That’s what they say.”

“That’s what you said,” she thought, but didn’t speak it.

She said, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to bring it up.”

He shook his head, “It’s fine, you’re not the first person to ask. Just the first who didn’t shove a microphone in my face.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“It is.”

“You ever write about anything else?” she asked.

“Trying to,” he said. “Publishers only want another Sigma book. Like there’s nothing else in the world worth writing about.”

“That must get old.”

“Yeah but rent’s real, you know?”

She smiled, “It always is.”

He glanced toward the door, “You sound like you’ve been there.”

“Oh, totally,” she said, “Grad school debt doesn’t pay itself.”

“What’d you study again?”

“Anthropology.”

He raised an eyebrow, “Explains why you weren’t screaming your head off earlier.”

“I was internally screaming,” she said.

“Still impressive.”

“Thanks, you didn’t look too freaked either.”

He shrugged, “Guess we’re both good at pretending.”

Autumn leaned against the cool tile, letting the warm water hit the back of her neck. Her pulse had finally slowed. She could hear him shift in the chair, the floorboards creaking.

“Can I ask you something?” she said after a moment.

“Sure.”

“Why’d you really come here? This weekend, I mean.”

He was quiet for a beat, “Same reason as everyone else, I guess. Morbid curiosity.”

“Bullshit,” she said softly.

He laughed, “Okay, yeah, It’s more than that.”

“Go on.”

He rubbed his jaw, “I wanted to see it, the place. The kind of place that makes people like me famous.”

Autumn frowned slightly, “That’s dark.”

“I didn’t mean it like that. I just…” He exhaled, “I thought if I came here, maybe I’d stop feeling like a fraud.”

“You’re not a fraud,” she said automatically.

He smiled faintly, “You don’t know that.”

“I do,” she said, quieter this time.

He looked toward the door, his expression softening, “You sound sure.”

She didn’t respond.

The silence between them stretched, not uncomfortable, but charged. The air felt heavier with the steam drifting into the room.

He cleared his throat, “Anyway, enough about me. You ever think about leaving this kind of stuff behind? True crime, all of it?”

She smiled faintly, “Every day.”

“And?”

“And I never do.”

He laughed softly, “Guess we’re both idiots.”

“Guess so.”

The water pressure changed again, she must’ve shifted to rinse her hair. Her voice was quieter now, but it carried clearly enough.

“You think whoever’s doing this… the Baphomet stuff,” she said, “you think they’re trying to copy the original murders?”

Blake rubbed his temple, “Yeah, probably or they just get off on scaring us.”

“Could be both.”

“Could be Adrianna,” he muttered.

Autumn laughed, the sound bouncing off the walls, “She’d at least make sure there were cameras rolling.”

He smiled, “Exactly.”

The sound of the water filled the small gap in conversation.

“You sure you’re okay in there?” he asked.

“Yeah, just… trying not to think about earlier.”

“Then don’t,” he said, “Think about something else.”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know, anything…. Pizza, puppies, whatever works.”

“Pizza sounds nice.”

“See? There you go.”

“You’re not very good at distraction,” she said.

“Hey, I’m trying here.”

She laughed again, soft and real this time.

A few minutes passed before she spoke again, “Do you ever get scared?”

Blake looked up, “What, in general?”

“In places like this, after everything that’s happened to you.”

He thought about it for a moment, “Yeah, of course. I just don’t show it.”

“Why not?”

“Because if you act scared, people stop listening to you.”

“That’s messed up.”

“Yeah, well, so’s life.”

Autumn smiled faintly behind the curtain, “You’re not as jaded as you think.”

“You say that now,” he said, “Wait till tomorrow.”

She hummed quietly, not disagreeing.

He leaned back again, the chair creaking under him, “I’ll stay till you’re done, okay?”

“Thanks,” she said softly.

“Don’t worry about it.”

The water slowed again, shifting into a lighter drizzle. Steam pooled near the ceiling.

Autumn stood still for a moment under the fading warmth, eyes closed, listening to his breathing through the cracked door.

Neither of them said anything more for a while.

The storm outside had gone almost silent, but the air still hummed with tension. Two people sitting in the wreckage of a night they both knew was only going to get worse.

The shower hissed steady, echoing off tile in the small bathroom. Steam crept out through the cracked door, curling in soft tendrils across the floor. The rain outside had quieted to a whisper, still heavy enough to be heard, but not enough to drown out thought.

Blake sat in the chair by the bed, elbows on his knees, staring at nothing in particular. His mind felt like it was humming overstimulated, overtired, but too wired to shut down.

“You still there?” Autumn’s voice came over the water.

“Yeah,” he said, “I’m here.”

“Good.”

Blake smirked faintly, “You expecting me to bolt?”

“Wouldn’t blame you if you did,” she said, “Most guys bail after the knife-attack part of the evening.”

“Yeah, well. I’m old-fashioned. Plus I figure if they attacked once, they might not try again till at least tomorrow.”

That earned him a laugh, soft but real.

He leaned back, eyes tracing the cracks in the ceiling. The motel creaked like it had lungs, old wood settling with every gust of wind.

Autumn’s voice came again, quieter now. “You ever think about how weird it is that we’re all here? Like, specifically us.”

“Yeah,” he said, “It’s been on my mind since dinner.”

“Portia and Ruby said it was an ‘exclusive anniversary event.’ They didn’t say they were hand-picking people with a borderline unhealthy obsession with murder.”

“Pretty sure that was implied,” Blake said.

She laughed under the water, “True.”

He rubbed the back of his neck. “Writers, professors, artists, podcasters, psychics… It’s like a convention for people who think about death too much.”

“I’m guessing that was the point,” she said. “The perfect audience, we all know the story, we all want to stand where it happened.”

Blake made a noise somewhere between a sigh and a laugh, “Guess we got what we wanted.”

“Yeah,” she said quietly, “Just not how we thought.”

The water shifted tone, she must’ve turned to rinse her hair.

“You really think Portia and Ruby researched us?” Autumn asked.

“I don’t think,” he said. “I know, they dropped details tonight that weren’t public. They mentioned quotes from my book I didn’t even include in the promo copy.”

“Creepy.”

“Yeah,” he said, “Makes you wonder what they want from us.”

“Probably clout,” she said. “They’ll spin this whole thing into a docuseries, ‘The Weekend That Changed True Crime.’”

“Please don’t give them ideas.”

“Too late,” she said, amused, “You know Adrianna would sign on immediately.”

He laughed softly, “She’s probably already drafting the pitch.”

“I can hear her saying it: ‘You can’t spell trauma without T-R-U-E C-R-I-M-E.’”

He groaned, “God, you’re not wrong.”

For a while, neither of them spoke. The sound of the water filled the space where the fear would’ve been. It felt almost normal for a minute.

Autumn finally said, “You think this is all just for attention? The prank, the dinner, everything?”

“Could be,” Blake said, “I’ve seen people do worse for views.”

“Yeah,” she said, “But whoever killed Hemmingway wasn’t doing it for clicks.”

He went quiet, because she was right.

The memory of the smell hit him… burnt meat, charred fabric, the faint tang of iron that wouldn’t leave his nose.

Autumn spoke again, softer, “He didn’t deserve that.”

“No one does,” he said.

She didn’t respond, and the silence felt heavier than before.

Blake shifted in his chair, trying to shake the image out of his head, “You doing okay in there?”

“Yeah,” she said, “Shoulder’s throbbing, but I’ll live.”

“Need me to get anything?”

“No,” she said, “I just needed to not feel sticky with my own blood.”

“Fair.”

The pipes rattled faintly. The whole motel seemed to breathe along with her shower, the walls expanding and contracting with every gust of wind.

“You ever think maybe this whole event was a bad idea?” she asked.

“From day one,” he said, “But free lodging and a morbid sense of curiosity will do that.”

She smiled, “And you said you’re not like the others.”

“I’m self-aware,” he said, “That’s different.”

The water shifted again, quieter now.

“Hey, Blake?”

“Yeah?”

“I know you said earlier you didn’t want to write about this stuff anymore, but… I think you still kind of love it.”

He blinked, “Love what?”

“The chase,” she said, “The mystery, even when it’s ugly.”

He hesitated, “Maybe I just like trying to make sense of things that don’t make sense.”

“That’s basically love,” she said.

He laughed softly, “That’s the most depressing definition of love I’ve ever heard.”

She chuckled, “I didn’t say it was healthy.”

He rubbed at his eyes, “What about you? You still get off on puzzles like this?”

“‘Get off’ isn’t the phrase I’d use,” she said dryly.

“You know what I mean.”

She was quiet a moment before answering. “I used to , then I realized how often we treat other people’s tragedies like entertainment.”

He nodded slowly, “That’s what this weekend feels like.”

“Exactly,” she said, “A live-action fan convention for murder.”

“Yeah,” he said, “And we’re the guests of honor.”

The words hung there, grim but true. The shower shut off, the sudden silence rang in his ears.

“You good?” he asked.

“Yeah,” she said, “Just… towel logistics.”

He grinned faintly, “You sure you don’t need help drying off?”

There was a beat of silence then her voice, amused, “You volunteering to see me naked, Williams?”

Blake blinked hard, “What? No! I meant… your arm… like, practical help! Not-”

“Relax,” she said, laughing, “I’m kidding.”

He groaned, covering his face, “I swear I wasn’t-”

“You’re fine,” she said, still laughing, “Though I’ll keep the offer in mind.”

“Jesus,” he muttered.

“Don’t worry,” she added, “You’re not my type.”

“Good,” he said quickly.

“Don’t sound so relieved.”

He smiled despite himself, “You’re impossible.”

“I get that a lot.”

The door creaked open a little wider, letting the steam roll out in waves. Autumn stepped out barefoot, wrapped in a towel and looking a little more like herself again or at least like someone pretending to be. Her hair hung damp and loose, a few strands sticking to her cheek. The T-shirt she’d laid out earlier clung slightly to her arm where the bandage peeked through.

Blake stood automatically, “You sure you’re okay?”

“I’m good,” she said, brushing hair from her face. “Still sore, but at least I don’t look like I lost a knife fight anymore.”

He smiled, “You kind of did.”

“Yeah,” she said, “But I lived. Which statistically makes me a winner.”

“Dark logic,” he said.

“Best kind.”

She sat on the edge of the bed, carefully adjusting the towel around her shoulder. “You don’t have to keep hovering, you know, I can handle myself.”

“I know,” he said, “I just… don’t really want to go back out there yet.”

She looked up at him, “Because of Adrianna?”

He laughed softly, “Among other things.”

“Fair.”

“I swear, she’s probably pacing the hallway rehearsing how she’s gonna dramatize all this.”

Autumn smiled faintly, “She’ll make it sound better than it was.”

“Everything sounds better with a little creative editing.”

“You’d know,” she teased.

He smirked, “Wow, low blow.”

“You walked right into it.”

“Yeah,” he admitted, chuckling, “Guess I did.”

The storm outside was at a fever pitch.

Autumn leaned forward, elbows on her knees, “You really think we’ll be able to leave tomorrow?”

“Depends on the roads,” Blake said, “And whether our hosts decide to let us.”

“You don’t trust them either.”

He shook his head, “I stopped trusting people who smile that much years ago.”

She smiled faintly, “You’re getting cynical in your old age.”

“I’m twenty-six,” he said.

“Exactly,” she said, “That’s when cynicism peaks.”

They fell quiet again. It wasn’t awkward just tired silence.

After a moment, she said softly, “You know what’s weird? For all the true-crime stuff I’ve studied, all the bodies I’ve worked with, nothing ever felt this real.”

Blake nodded slowly, “It’s different when you can’t close the book after.”

“Yeah.”

He looked at her, the faint red glow from the motel sign outside reflecting across her skin. “You handled it better than anyone else tonight.”

She shrugged, “Someone had to.”

“That’s not an answer.”

She smiled faintly, “It’s the only one I’ve got.”

Blake rubbed his neck, “You should probably sleep.”

“You should too.”

“Can’t.”

“You could try.”

“Not gonna happen.”

She looked up at him with a small, tired grin, “You’re stubborn.”

He grinned back, “You’re bossy.”

“I prefer assertive.”

“Sure.”

For a moment, neither of them moved. Then Blake said quietly, “You’re sure you’ll be okay?”

“I’ll be fine,” she said, “You’ve done enough babysitting for one night.”

He hesitated, then nodded, “All right but if you hear anything weird-”

“I’ll scream,” she said, “Same plan as before.”

“Right.”

He walked toward the door, hand on the knob, but stopped when she spoke again.

“Hey, Blake?”

He turned, “Yeah?”

“Thanks, for staying.”

He gave her a small smile, “You keep saying that.”

“And I’ll keep meaning it,” she said.

He nodded once, “Get some rest, Autumn.”

“You too.”

He hesitated again, just a second longer than he should’ve before opening the door.

The hallway was dim, the air cold compared to her room. He stepped out, boots creaking against the warped boards.

Behind him, Autumn sat for a long moment, staring at the closed door. The neon sign outside flickered through the curtains, its red light glowing faintly across the floorboards.

The motel groaned softly, the rain ticking against the window again, harder now, the kind of rain that almost sounded like a howl.

Autumn whispered back, just under her breath, “Happy anniversary, Cold River.”

Then she got up, locked the door behind her, and turned off the light.

Chapter Text

The storm returned sometime after two. Wind pushed against the windows, rain running in crooked lines down the glass. The motel creaked under it like something alive and tired of holding together.

Blake had been awake when it started, lying on his bed, staring at the ceiling, too wired to rest. It wasn’t the weather keeping him up. It was the arguing.

Ruby and Portia’s voices carried easily through the walls. At first it had been sharp but controlled, the kind of tired, late-night tension that comes when two people are too exhausted to fight but too hurt to stop.

“Stop acting like I planned this,” Ruby’s voice cracked through the wall.

Portia’s came back lower, firm, “You didn’t stop it either, Ruby. You wanted this weekend, you wanted them here.”

“Don’t twist it,” Ruby said, “I wanted them here because it mattered because this place deserves to mean something again.”

“Yeah,” Portia said bitterly, “It means something all right.”

Something slammed, wood against wall, a door maybe. Then silence.

Autumn, half awake in her room across the hall, listened for a while longer before lying back down. She could hear Blake pacing faintly through his own floorboards.

No one went to check on the couple. They were all too tired, too wary of adding to the noise. By three, the storm was the only thing left shouting.

When Ruby screamed, the sound cut straight through the rain. Blake was out of bed before his brain caught up. Her second scream came louder, raw and panicked.

Doors opened almost instantly. Andy appeared in the hall half-dressed, Paige clutching a robe around herself, Adrianna with a flask already in hand. Autumn shoved past them all, barefoot and fast.

Ruby’s door was open.

The sight hit like a punch… Portia lying on the bed, chest torn open, her ribs cracked apart. Ruby sat beside her, soaked in blood to the elbows, her face frozen in shock.

“Oh my God,” Paige whispered from the doorway.

Blake stopped just inside the room, the air thick with iron and something sour underneath. The walls felt too close, too low.

“I tried,” Ruby stammered, “She wouldn’t wake up, I tried.”

Autumn crouched by the bed, her voice steady but quiet, “Ruby, look at me. Don’t move, just breathe.”

Ruby’s eyes darted wildly between them, “I didn’t do this, I swear…she was just…she was sleeping-”

Blake moved closer, careful not to step in the blood pooling off the mattress. “We believe you,” he said, even though no one had decided if they did.

Crow’s voice came from behind them, cool and certain, “I don’t.”

Everyone turned.

Crow stood in the doorway, arms crossed, his dark eyes fixed on Ruby. “She’s covered in blood, there’s no forced entry, no broken locks, just her and the body.”

“Shut up,” Paige said sharply.

“It’s an observation,” Crow said, “Not an accusation.”

“Sure,” Blake muttered, “Sounds real observational.”

Autumn looked up from the body, “Crow, not now.”

He didn’t move, “Then when? How many more of us have to die before someone admits what’s in front of us?”

Ruby broke into another sob, folding forward, “I didn’t… I didn’t kill her.”

Floyd and Shirley appeared at the door next. Floyd took one look at the bed and went pale, “Jesus Christ.”

Shirley turned away, hand over her mouth.

Crow nodded toward Ruby, his tone cold, “Ask her.”

“Ask me what?” Ruby gasped.

“If you did it,” Floyd said quietly, his voice uncertain but loud enough, “You were the only one here.”

Ruby shook her head violently, “No! We both took something to help us sleep. She was next to me, I didn’t hear a thing.”

“You expect us to believe that?” Crow said, “You were next to her while someone cracked her open like that, and you slept through it?”

“Crow,” Autumn said again, firmer this time.

Floyd pointed at Ruby’s hands, “Then how do you explain all that blood?”

“I woke up to it!” Ruby shouted, “I woke up and she… she wasn’t breathing!”

Paige stepped closer, voice small but fierce, “You’re scaring her.”

“She’s covered in evidence,” Crow said, “That’s what’s scaring her.”

Autumn straightened, her face calm but her voice cutting, “Enough! All of you, let me work.”

She turned back to the bed, flashlight steady in one hand. The beam caught the wound, a clean split through the sternum, ribs bent outward, precise in a way that made Blake’s stomach twist.

Autumn moved methodically, her focus absolute. She wasn’t detached, she was deliberate.

“Deep, clean incision,” she said quietly. “Midline, whoever did this used something sharp but heavy, not a kitchen knife. Something with weight.”

Blake crouched beside her, his throat tight, “Like a cleaver?”

“Maybe,” she said, “Or something industrial.”

Paige hovered behind them, trembling, “Can you tell if she felt it?”

Autumn glanced at the bedside table, two half-empty water glasses, a pill bottle, one tablet still intact. “They took something to sleep, she wouldn’t have felt much.”

Ruby sobbed harder, “She said we needed rest, I don’t remember anything-”

Crow’s expression didn’t change, “How convenient.”

“Jesus, man,” Blake snapped, “Give it a rest.”

“I’m pointing out facts,” Crow said coolly.

“You’re accusing her,” Autumn said, “There’s a difference.”

“She’s the only one who could have done it,” Floyd said quietly. “Who else could get in here? These doors don’t even have working latches.”

Paige turned toward him, incredulous, “Are you listening to yourself?”

Floyd looked uneasy but kept talking, “I’m just saying, if she didn’t do it, then someone else had to come in while she was out cold, cut her wife open, and left her alive right next to the body. That doesn’t add up.”

“Neither does her killing Portia,” Autumn said.

Crow gestured toward Ruby, “Look at her, people like that snap all the time. The guilt, the pressure, she was already falling apart.”

Ruby shook her head, eyes glassy, “You don’t know me.”

“I know killers,” Crow said softly.

Blake stepped between them, “Back off.”

Crow met his gaze, “What, you believe her?”

“I don’t know,” Blake said, his voice low, “But I know this isn’t helping.”

Crow’s lips curved faintly, “You’d rather wait until it’s your turn?”

Blake didn’t respond.

Autumn said nothing either. She was studying the wound, her gloved fingers hovering an inch above the exposed cavity.

“This wasn’t rage,” she said finally, “It’s too clean, too… careful.”

Floyd crossed his arms, “You sound like you admire it.”

“I respect skill when I see it,” she said flatly.

Ruby let out a shaky breath, rocking back and forth. “She didn’t even wake up,” she said, “I held her, and she didn’t-” Her voice broke.

Paige moved closer and knelt beside her, “Ruby, hey, don’t… just breathe, okay? We’re here.”

Ruby leaned into her, sobbing quietly.

Crow turned away from the bed, pacing once across the room. “We can’t keep pretending this is random,” he said. “First Hemmingway, now Portia. Someone’s working their way down the guest list.”

“Then we stick together,” Blake said.

“Or,” Crow said, “we start eliminating possibilities.”

Autumn’s voice cut through again, calm but sharp, “You’re not tying anyone up.”

“I didn’t say that,” Crow said, though his tone made it sound like he’d already decided otherwise.

Floyd took a step closer to Ruby, arms folded tightly, “She’s not exactly harmless, Autumn. Look at her.”

“She’s covered in someone else’s blood,” Autumn said, “That doesn’t make her a murderer.”

Floyd’s voice cracked slightly, “You don’t think it’s weird she’s the only one who’s been in the room for both attacks? First the prank with Paige, now this?”

“Paige's prank was one thing,” Blake said, “but I don't think that makes her capable of murder.”

Crow spoke again, “She gets off on this stuff, the theater of it. First a prank, now the real thing.”

“Stop,” Paige said.

Ruby covered her face with her hands, shaking uncontrollably. “Please,” she whispered, “I didn’t… I didn’t hurt her.”

Crow looked at Autumn, “You’re the scientist, tell us how else it could’ve happened.”

“I will,” she said evenly, “When I’m done looking.”

Autumn leaned over the bed again, flashlight beam tracing the wound. She spoke quietly, mostly to herself but loud enough for Blake to hear.

“The incision’s smooth, not jagged. Ribs are cleanly separated. There’s precision here, intent. This isn’t the work of someone panicking or high on adrenaline.”

Crow folded his arms, “Or she’s been planning this for years.”

“Crow,” Blake said sharply, “You need to shut up.”

“She could’ve done it in her sleep,” Floyd said, uneasy. “Or half-awake, people do crazy things when they’re on meds.”

“Cutting through ribs requires more than a bad dream,” Autumn said.

Blake watched her, the steadiness in her movements contrasting the chaos around her. He’d seen her calm before, but this was different… colder, sharper, like she’d built a wall between herself and the rest of them.

Ruby’s breathing was ragged now. Paige kept a hand on her back, whispering something Blake couldn’t hear.

Shirley stood near the door, pale and trembling. “Can we… can we cover her, please?”

“Not yet,” Autumn said softly, “I need to see what was used.”

Crow moved closer to the nightstand, picking up the pill bottle. “Half-empty,” he said, “Could’ve been used to knock her out, then finished her off.”

Ruby flinched at the words, “Stop saying that.”

Crow ignored her, “Who even takes sleeping pills on a night like this?”

“She was exhausted,” Ruby said, tears streaking her face, “We both were.”

Blake turned on Crow, “You done playing detective?”

Crow met his gaze without flinching, “No, not until someone stops dying.”

Autumn stayed silent through the exchange. She’d seen enough crime scenes to know when emotions were taking over logic, when fear made people dangerous.

She focused on the wound again, tracing the edge of bone with the light. The ribs had been cracked in a clean line. The tool used must’ve been heavy, sharp, and handled with skill.

Her voice came quiet, almost to herself, “You’d need leverage to do this, precision and strength.”

Blake leaned in slightly, “You think it’s the same person who killed Hemmingway?”

“Could be,” she said, “The control’s similar.”

Floyd stepped closer, anxious, “Then who? Who the hell’s strong enough to do that?”

Autumn didn’t answer. Her eyes stayed on the wound, steady, unblinking.

Crow was still watching Ruby, his tone softer now but no less certain. “We can keep debating, but every minute we stand here, whoever did this gets further away. If it’s not her, she’ll prove it later. For now, we make sure she can’t hurt anyone else.”

“You’re not restraining her,” Autumn said.

“I’m keeping us alive,” Crow said.

“By tying up the only person here having a breakdown?” Blake said.

Crow’s gaze flicked toward him, “Breakdowns and bloodbaths aren’t mutually exclusive.”

“Jesus,” Paige muttered, “You sound insane.”

Autumn exhaled, forcing the room back into focus. “No one’s getting tied up,” she said finally.

Crow’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t argue.

Floyd rubbed his forehead, “Then what? We just stand here?”

“We make sure no one else leaves this room until we know what happened,” Autumn said.

“Fantastic,” Adrianna said from the doorway. “Group sleepover with a corpse, love that.”

“Shut up,” Andy muttered.

Ruby’s sobbing quieted into small, broken breaths. She was shaking from exhaustion more than fear now.

Autumn crouched again, her tone almost kind. “Ruby, I’m sorry. I know this is hard, but I need you to try and remember anything you can, even if it doesn’t make sense.”

Ruby blinked at her, tears streaking through the dried blood on her face. “It was quiet,” she said softly. “Too quiet, then I woke up and… and she was gone. She was right next to me, and she was gone.”

Autumn nodded slowly, “Okay, that helps.”

Crow muttered something under his breath, but Autumn ignored it.

She looked back down at the wound, at the deliberate line, the impossibly clean break and frowned.

Her voice came low, measured, almost thoughtful. “Whoever did this…” She trailed off, still studying the ribs, her brow creasing.

Blake waited for her to finish but she didn’t, not yet.

She stayed kneeling there beside the body, silent, the storm pressing hard against the window as if waiting with them.

Rain hammered the roof in uneven bursts, leaking down through cracks in the ceiling. The sound filled every pause, every breath, every moment someone didn’t know what to say.

Ruby sat slumped beside the bed, her face streaked with blood and tears. Her hands trembled as she stared at the towel draped over Portia’s chest. Her voice was barely a whisper.

“I didn’t do this.”

Crow stood a few feet away, arms crossed, the strip of curtain dangling from his hand. “Then you won’t mind sitting still until morning.”

Autumn glared at him, “You’re not tying her up.”

Crow’s tone stayed even, “We don’t have a choice.”

“Of course we have a choice,” she snapped, “You’re just too scared to think.”

He took a slow step toward her, “You think fear’s the problem? Fear’s the reason any of us are still alive.”

“Fear’s the reason you’re doing this,” Autumn said, “Not logic.”

Floyd cleared his throat, “He’s right, though. It’s not about logic anymore, it’s about safety.”

“Safety?” she said, incredulous, “You think tying up a grieving woman next to her wife’s corpse is safe?”

Floyd rubbed his face, “It’s safer than leaving her free.”

Paige crouched by Ruby’s side, her voice shaking. “You don’t have to do this, she’s not a threat.”

Crow didn’t even look at her, “Grab the chair.”

The wooden legs screeched across the floor as Floyd dragged it from the corner. The sound made Ruby flinch, her shoulders curling forward. She whispered again, “Please don’t.”

Crow knelt in front of her, testing the torn fabric between his hands, “It’s temporary.”

“Temporary?” Autumn repeated, “That’s what you tell hostages.”

Crow didn’t look up, “Hands.”

Ruby shook her head, “No! Please.”

He reached for her wrists, and she jerked away. The movement was small, weak. Her body was trembling too hard to resist.

Blake stepped forward, torn between both sides, “Crow-”

“She’s not cooperating,” Crow said, “Hold the chair.”

Blake hesitated, but when Floyd grabbed one armrest to steady it, he moved to the other side. His voice came out hoarse, “Let’s just… get this over with.”

Autumn stared at him like she didn’t recognize him, “You can’t honestly believe she-”

He didn’t meet her eyes, “I don’t know what to believe anymore.”

Crow wound the first strip of curtain around Ruby’s wrists. The fabric darkened as it absorbed the blood on her skin. She gasped when the knot pulled tight but didn’t speak again.

Paige’s voice cracked, “Stop! You’re hurting her.”

Crow ignored her, “You want to live through the night, don’t you?”

“Not like this,” Paige said.

He pulled the second knot tighter, “That’s your problem, then.”

Floyd took another strip of curtain from the window and tied Ruby’s ankles. His hands shook, but his expression was firm, “There. Done.”

Crow straightened, breathing hard, “Good, now she can’t hurt anyone.”

“She wasn’t going to,” Autumn said, her voice sharp, “You all just needed someone to blame.”

Crow glanced back at her, “Maybe we did, at least now we can sleep.”

“Sleep?” she said, “You think anyone’s sleeping after this?”

Crow shrugged, “Try.”

Blake stepped back, hands still trembling. Ruby’s eyes met his briefly… wide, terrified, shining wet in the lamplight. He opened his mouth to say something but couldn’t find words that didn’t sound empty.

Autumn didn’t say anything either. The look she gave him said enough. It wasn’t anger, it was disappointment, the kind that didn’t need to be spoken to hurt.

Paige stayed beside Ruby, wiping at her tears. “We’ll come back in the morning, okay? You’re not alone.”

Ruby’s voice broke, “You’re leaving me with her.”

Crow’s tone stayed flat, “You should be used to her by now.”

Autumn turned on him, “You’re disgusting.”

“Maybe,” Crow said, “but I’m alive.”

He started for the door, “Let’s go.”

“No,” Autumn said, “You’re not locking her in here.”

Crow stopped, looking over his shoulder, “We are.”

“Crow, she’s tied up,” Blake said quietly, “She’s not going anywhere.”

“She’s not the one I’m worried about,” Crow said, “I don’t want anyone else sneaking in to untie her.”

Autumn’s tone was ice, “You mean me.”

“If the shoe fits,” he said.

She took a step toward Ruby, but Crow moved faster, blocking her path. His voice dropped low, “You touch her again, and I’ll tie you next to her.”

Autumn’s breath hitched, “You’d really do that?”

Crow’s eyes didn’t waver, “Try me.”

The silence stretched long and brittle. Rain thudded against the window like a drumbeat.

Ruby whimpered softly, her head bowed, “It’s okay,” she whispered, “Please, Autumn. Don’t.”

Autumn’s hands fell slowly back to her sides, “You’ll regret this,” she said.

Crow’s voice was calm, “Maybe but not tonight.”

They filed out one by one. Floyd was first, muttering something about not wanting to see any more. Paige lingered, whispering a quiet apology to Ruby before she left. Blake hesitated in the doorway, staring at the floor, then turned to follow the others.

Autumn was last. She looked back once at Ruby, still trembling, still tied then walked out without another word.

Crow stepped out behind her, pulling the door shut. The lock clicked from the outside with a heavy metallic sound that cut through the storm.

No one spoke as they started down the hallway. The red glow of the neon sign outside flickered through the rain-streaked windows, bleeding color across the floor like diluted blood.

Paige wiped at her face, “You didn’t have to lock it.”

Floyd’s voice came low, “Better safe than sorry.”

Autumn spun on him, “You keep saying that like it means something.”

“It means I’m not ending up like her,” Floyd said.

Crow walked past both of them, hands shoved in his pockets, “You can thank me in the morning.”

Autumn’s voice was sharp, “I won’t.”

They reached the lounge without another word. The rain outside was relentless, washing the world in gray noise. Inside, the silence felt heavier.

Paige dropped onto the couch, shaking. Floyd went to stand by the window, rubbing at his face. Crow took the seat nearest the door, leaning back with his arms crossed.

Blake stayed standing near the hallway, staring back toward the closed door they’d just left. Autumn didn’t move from where she stood. Her expression was blank, but her jaw was set hard.

Crow finally broke the silence, “We did what had to be done.”

Autumn turned toward him, “You did what made you feel powerful.”

Crow smirked faintly, “Call it what you want.”

“I will,” she said, “Cowardice.”

Floyd stepped away from the window, “Enough, all of you. We’re shaken, we’re scared, and we need to keep our heads clear.”

“Too late for that,” Autumn said quietly.

Blake finally looked up from the floor, “We’re all scared,” he said, “That’s the problem.”

Paige let out a shaky breath, “You think this ends with two bodies?”

Crow looked at her, “It ends when we figure out who’s doing this.”

“And you think tying people up helps?” Autumn asked.

“It buys time,” he said.

“At what cost?”

He smiled faintly, “Her comfort.”

Autumn took a step toward him, “You think this is a joke?”

Crow’s eyes flicked toward her, unamused, “You’re welcome to join her if it makes you feel better.”

The argument burned out fast, the energy in the room collapsing into exhaustion. The storm outside grew louder again, the wind scraping against the siding like fingernails.

Floyd sat down heavily, his voice low, “I don’t care who’s right. I just want to see the sun come up.”

No one answered.

Autumn turned back toward the hallway. The light there flickered faintly, buzzing. She could still see, in her mind, the way Ruby’s hands shook as the curtain tied around them.

Blake stepped beside her, but she didn’t look at him.

He said quietly, “You really think she couldn’t have done it?”

Autumn’s voice stayed calm, but there was steel underneath, “I know she couldn’t.”

He nodded slowly, “Then I hope you’re right.”

Her eyes flicked to him, disappointed but not surprised.

They stood like that for a while, both staring down the dark hallway where the locked door waited at the end. Neither of them spoke again.

Finally, Autumn turned away, walking toward the couch where Paige sat curled up, shaking quietly. She dropped a blanket over her shoulders without saying a word.

Blake sank into a chair, elbows on his knees, face buried in his hands. The key to Ruby’s room sat heavy in his pocket. He didn’t take it out.

The room settled into uneasy silence. The storm rattled the windows. Crow leaned back in his chair, eyes half-closed, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at his mouth.

Autumn sat stiffly on the edge of the couch, her hands clasped together, staring at the floor. Her knuckles were white.

From somewhere deep in the hall, the old pipes groaned, water moving through them like distant breathing.

No one spoke. The sound of the rain was the only thing that dared to fill the space Ruby had left behind and then, with a final low roll of thunder, the motel fell into complete silence.

Chapter Text

The storm had eased to a drizzle, but the motel still groaned like it was alive.
Crow stood by the dark window, smoking what had to be his tenth cigarette that night. The others dozed in chairs or stared into space. Nobody talked. Nobody wanted to.

It was close to three a.m. when Crow finally said, “We should check on her.”

Autumn lifted her head from where she’d been half-asleep on the couch, “Ruby? Why?”

“Because it’s been hours,” Crow said, flicking ash into an empty mug. “If she’s hurt herself or worse, we need to know.”

Paige sat up, voice small, “She’s tied up in there. She’s not doing anything.”

Floyd, slumped against the wall, rubbed his face. “He’s got a point, we can’t just leave her all night. What if she… I don’t know. What if she’s not breathing?”

Autumn sighed, sitting forward, “You’re the ones who wanted her tied up.”

“Yeah,” Crow said, “and now I’m the one checking she’s still alive.”

He grabbed a flashlight off the table and started down the hall.

Blake hesitated, then pushed himself up with a groan, “Fine, I’ll go with you.”

Adrianna smirked, kicking her boots off the table, “Group field trip, cute.”

Paige shot her a look, “Stay here.”

Adrianna raised an eyebrow, “You wish.”

The hallway was colder than before. Water dripped somewhere inside the walls, steady as a clock. Crow’s flashlight beam wobbled across the warped wallpaper, catching the red tint from the neon sign outside.

When they reached the door to Ruby’s room, Crow paused. He pressed his ear against the wood.

Nothing.

“She’s quiet,” he muttered, “That’s not a good sign.”

He looked back at Blake, “Key?”

Blake dug it out of his pocket and handed it over, stomach tight.

The lock clicked, Crow pushed the door open.

The chair was on its side. The fabric strips lay on the floor, frayed and dark with dried blood.

Paige gasped, “Oh my God.”

Autumn stepped past Crow, kneeling to touch the fabric, It was still stiff. “She worked her way out,” she said quietly, “Hours ago.”

Adrianna leaned against the doorframe, unimpressed, “Guess Houdini’s alive and well.”

“Shut up,” Blake said, voice sharper than he meant.

Crow swept the flashlight over the corners, the bed, the bathroom door…empty.

“She’s gone,” he said flatly.

Floyd moved in beside him, “How? The windows don’t even open all the way.”

Autumn straightened, “Then she’s still inside the motel.”

Paige’s voice wavered, “We have to find her. If she’s bleeding-”

Crow cut her off, “We find her before she finds us.”

They split up. Crow ordered it like it was his right. Blake went with him and Floyd, checking the hallway and guest rooms. Adrianna and Shirley searched the lobby. Autumn and Paige took the dining room and kitchen.

The motel creaked with every step. Doors opened and slammed. Flashlights cut across peeling paint and damp carpet. The air was heavy with the smell of rain.

In the kitchen, Autumn ran her light across the counters. The knives were lined up beside the sink, except one.

Paige saw it too, “She took something.”

Autumn’s mouth tightened, “Great.”

“She’s not going to hurt anyone,” Paige said quickly, “She’s scared.”

“I know,” Autumn said, “That’s what worries me.”

They moved back toward the lobby where the others were gathering again. Blake’s face was pale, his shoulders tight.

“Nothing,” he said, “She’s not in any of the rooms.”

Adrianna snorted, “Maybe she walked out the front door.”

Floyd shook his head, “No chance, roads are still flooded. She’s here somewhere.”

Crow turned in a slow circle, thinking, “Basement.”

Everyone looked at him.

“She’s probably hiding down there,” he said, “Quiet, dark, perfect place to disappear.”

Paige’s stomach dropped, “That’s where they had the crime display.”

Crow shrugged, “Exactly, she’d think we’d never look there.”

“Or she went down there because she’s terrified of you,” Autumn said.

Crow ignored her, “Grab your lights, we’re checking it.”

The stairwell to the basement was narrow and steep. Their footsteps echoed off the walls, mixing with the faint hum of the old boiler. The air smelled like wet cement and rust.

“God, it’s freezing,” Shirley muttered, her voice shook.

Floyd reached back to steady her, “Careful on the steps.”

Crow was already halfway down, his beam slicing through the dark, “Move faster.”

Adrianna made a face, “You act like she’s gonna jump out at us.”

“Could happen,” Crow said.

“Jesus,” Paige whispered.

Autumn brought up the rear, her flashlight steady. “She’s not hiding to attack anyone,” she said, “She’s hiding because she’s terrified.”

Crow’s reply drifted up from the shadows below, “Terror makes people dangerous.”

Blake said quietly, “So does guilt.”

Autumn shot him a look but didn’t answer.

When they reached the bottom, the air changed… colder, heavier, like the basement was a different world entirely. The concrete floor gleamed damply in their lights. Old furniture was stacked against the walls… broken chairs, cracked tables, boxes of motel supplies covered in dust.

The “True Crime Experience” display still sat in the far corner. The photos of the original killings hung slightly crooked on the corkboard, glossy in the flashlight beams. The faded chalk outline of the pentagram was still visible on the floor, a pale stain surrounded by dark smudges of mildew.

Paige slowed, wrapping her arms around herself, “I hate this place.”

“Join the club,” Blake said softly.

Crow moved ahead, scanning the shadows, “She’s down here.”

“You don’t know that,” Autumn said.

“I can feel it,” he said simply.

Adrianna scoffed, “Oh please.”

Crow ignored her. He stepped around the old boiler, beam cutting across the far wall. “Ruby!” he called. His voice echoed, long and hollow, “You down here?”

No answer.

“Ruby!” Paige tried, her voice cracking, “It’s okay! We just want to talk!”

Still nothing, only the faint creak of water pipes and the soft hiss of rain outside. They spread out, their lights bouncing off every shiny surface. The silence pressed close around them. Every shuffle of a shoe made someone flinch.

Floyd pointed toward a narrow hall leading to the back storage area, “I’ll check that way.”

Crow nodded, “Take Adrianna with you.”

She rolled her eyes, “Lucky me.”

Blake crouched near the middle of the room, noticing a set of faint marks in the dust, something had been dragged across the floor recently. “She’s been here,” he said.

Autumn knelt beside him, tracing the marks with her fingers. “Bare feet and this…” She pointed to a small dark smear, “Blood.”

Paige’s breath caught, “Is it hers?”

“Has to be,” Blake said.

Crow swung his flashlight toward them, “Which way?”

Blake motioned toward the back of the room, “That way.”

Crow nodded once, “All right, everyone spread out and stay alert.”

They moved deeper into the basement. The lights played over crates, old furniture draped with dusty sheets, and stacks of yellowed newspapers from the motel’s first grand opening decades ago.

Every sound seemed too loud… the creak of a board, the soft click of a flashlight button, someone’s uneven breathing.

Shirley whispered, “This feels wrong.”

“Everything about this weekend’s been wrong,” Floyd muttered.

Autumn’s light swept across the pentagram again. She paused, uneasy. “You’d think Portia and Ruby would’ve painted over that when they reopened this place.”

“Guess they wanted authenticity,” Blake said quietly.

“Or publicity,” Adrianna added from across the room, “Nothing sells faster than a murder legend.”

Crow’s voice cut through the dark, “Focus.”

Paige jumped slightly at the sound, “She’s scared, Crow. If she hears you barking orders, she’ll run.”

“Then we corner her,” he said.

“Jesus Christ,” Autumn muttered, “You’re talking about her like she’s an animal.”

“She ran,” he said, “Animals run.”

Autumn turned on him, “She ran because of you.”

Their lights flickered over his face, blank, hard, unreadable. “If you’re that sure she’s innocent,” he said quietly, “you better find her first.”

For a long moment, no one moved. The only sound was the low hum of the ancient freezer unit in the next room.

Then Blake’s light caught something, a shadow darting past the edge of the hallway.

“Wait,” he whispered, “Did you see that?”

Paige froze, “See what?”

“There by the boiler.”

Everyone turned their lights toward the spot. The beam caught nothing but dust and cobwebs.

Adrianna sighed, “You’re jumpy.”

“I saw something,” Blake said.

Crow moved toward the boiler, slow and deliberate, “Ruby?”

Silence.

Autumn’s heart thudded hard in her chest. The smell of mildew and rust pressed close, mixed with something sharper, metallic. She looked over at Blake, saw how tightly he gripped the flashlight. His knuckles were white.

Paige whispered, “What if she’s hurt? What if she passed out somewhere?”

“No one passin’ out sneaks off and breaks a chair,” Floyd said.

Crow ignored them all, stepping forward until his light disappeared behind the boiler.

“Crow?” Adrianna called.

He didn’t answer.

Then his light came back, slicing across the walls again. “She’s not here,” he said, “But she was.”

“How do you know?” Autumn asked.

He crouched, picking something up from the floor. “Piece of curtain,” he said. The end of it was damp, stained dark.

Autumn’s stomach turned, “That’s from her bindings.”

Crow stood again, turning the fabric over in his hand, “She’s bleeding and she’s close.”

Paige swallowed hard, “How do you know?”

“Because she didn’t leave the building,” he said, “And if she did, we’d have heard the door.”

The group fell silent again, the realization settling in.

Adrianna finally broke it, “So what now? We just wander around down here all night waiting for her to jump out?”

“We find her,” Crow said simply.

“And if she’s got the knife?” Floyd asked.

Crow’s eyes didn’t blink, “Then we deal with it.”

Autumn’s voice was steady, but her hands trembled around the flashlight, “If you hurt her, I swear to God-”

“No one’s hurting anyone,” Blake said quickly, “Let’s just find her, okay? Before this gets any worse.”

Paige nodded, whispering, “Please.”

Crow turned toward the far hall, the one that led to the old storage freezer and the back staircase. “She’s down that way,” he said.

“How do you know?” Adrianna asked.

He didn’t look back, “Call it intuition.”

“Or paranoia,” Autumn muttered.

“Either works,” Crow said, starting forward.

They followed, single file, their flashlights bobbing through the dark. The air grew colder, the floor slick beneath their shoes.

Blake’s chest felt tight. Every sound, the shuffle of feet, the drip of water seemed amplified, electric.

Paige whispered behind him, “I don’t like this.”

“Me neither,” he said.

Crow stopped at the bend in the hallway and lifted a hand, “Quiet.”

Everyone froze.

A faint noise drifted from somewhere ahead, soft, quick, almost human.

Floyd whispered, “You hear that?”

They all did.

Crow turned his head slightly, voice low, “That’s her.”

Autumn’s heart pounded, “Then stop shouting and let me talk to her first.”

Crow nodded slowly, lowering his flashlight. “Fine, you want to play peacemaker? Go ahead.”

Autumn took a small step forward, every sense alive. The shadows ahead shifted slightly with the pulse of her light.

Paige clutched the edge of her sleeve, whispering, “Autumn, be careful.”

Autumn didn’t answer. She took another step.

The basement swallowed the sound and somewhere beyond the boiler, in the dark, something moved. Something shifted in the dark.

Autumn’s beam caught it, just a flicker, a shape ducking behind the boiler. She froze, “There,” she whispered.

Crow swung his flashlight in the same direction. The beam sliced across concrete and dust until it hit a blur of red hair and pale skin.

Ruby.

Her eyes were wide, her face streaked with tears and grime. The light caught on the knife in her hand.

“Stop!” Autumn shouted, “Ruby, stop don’t move!”

Ruby stumbled backward, breath ragged, “Don’t come near me!”

Crow raised a hand, “We just want to talk.”

“Liar,” she cried, “You’ll kill me like you killed her!”

Paige stepped out from behind Autumn, her voice trembling. “Ruby, it’s okay. Please. We’re not going to hurt you.”

Ruby shook her head, tears falling fast. “You said that before! You tied me up, locked me in there like a dog!”

“No one’s tying you now,” Autumn said carefully, keeping her voice low, slow. “You’re free, you can walk out of here, but you need to put the knife down.”

“I can’t,” Ruby whispered, “You won’t let me.”

Crow took a step forward, “We’re done playing games, Ruby. Drop it.”

“Crow,” Autumn snapped, “Stop talking.”

Ruby flinched like she’d been struck, “Don’t… don’t come closer.”

Blake’s voice came out shaky, “Ruby, please. Nobody’s going to hurt you.”

Ruby’s eyes darted toward him, wild and glassy. “You were the worst one,” she hissed. “You watched them tie me up. You helped.”

He opened his mouth to deny it but he couldn’t. His throat closed.

Crow took another step, “Put the knife down.”

Ruby’s arm trembled, “Stay back!”

She shifted slightly and in that small motion, Paige moved without thinking.

“Ruby,” Paige said, voice breaking, “It’s okay, you can come with me.”

Ruby turned fast, panicked, grabbing her and yanking her close. The knife pressed to Paige’s neck.

“Don’t move!” Ruby screamed, “Don’t… don’t come closer!”

Paige froze, tears springing to her eyes, “Ruby, please…”

Autumn’s heart slammed against her ribs. “Everyone stay still,” she said. “Ruby, look at me, you don’t want to do this.”

“I didn’t do anything!” Ruby sobbed, “But you won’t listen!”

“We will,” Autumn said quickly, “I swear to you, we will. Just let her go.”

Ruby shook her head, “You’ll never believe me, none of you will.”

Crow’s tone shifted, low and calm. “You’re right,” he said. “We won’t, not while you’re holding that knife.”

“Crow,” Autumn warned.

He didn’t look at her, “You already dug your grave, Ruby. Don’t make us fill it.”

“Jesus Christ,” Autumn hissed, “Shut up.”

Ruby pressed the blade closer. Paige whimpered, eyes wide. “Please don’t do this,” Paige whispered, “Please.”

Ruby’s hands were trembling violently now. “I’m not going back up there, you’ll kill me.”

“No one’s killing you,” Autumn said again, louder this time.

“Liar!” Ruby screamed, “You all think I’m crazy!”

Her eyes darted between them… the flashlights, the faces, the red stains still on their clothes. “You’re the crazy ones.”

“Ruby, listen to me,” Autumn said, inching forward. “You didn’t kill Portia, right? You said you didn’t.”

“I didn’t!” Ruby shouted.

“Okay, then come with me. I’ll help you but you have to let Paige go.”

Ruby’s breathing hitched, “You’ll lock me up again.”

“No, I promise.”

Ruby’s hand wavered. For a second, Autumn thought she might actually lower the knife.

Then Adrianna moved.

The sound of her boots scraping against concrete was barely audible, but Ruby heard it. She jerked, tightening her grip on Paige.

“Don’t!” she screamed.

Adrianna’s voice was flat, “You’re bluffing.”

“Don’t test her!” Autumn yelled.

But Adrianna didn’t stop, “You’re not gonna do it, Ruby, you’re not a killer.”

Ruby’s voice cracked, “Neither was I before this weekend!”

“Put it down,” Adrianna said, taking another step, “You’re making it worse.”

Ruby’s eyes went wild, “Stay back!”

Adrianna lunged.

Everything happened at once.

Ruby shoved Paige away and slashed out with the knife. The blade missed, grazing Adrianna’s sleeve. Adrianna swung back, faster, metal flashing under the flashlight beam.

The knife sank into Ruby’s side.

She gasped, stumbling. Adrianna pulled back, blood spattering her wrist. “I told you,” she said under her breath, “You’re not a killer.”

“Jesus Christ!” Autumn screamed, “What did you do?!”

Ruby staggered backward, still clutching the knife, eyes wide with disbelief. “You-” she started, then stopped.

Blake moved forward instinctively, “Ruby…wait-”

Ruby swung the blade weakly toward him, “Stay away from me!”

He flinched and Crow lunged.

Ruby’s knife slashed upward, grazing Crow’s shoulder. He snarled, grabbed her wrist, and slammed her against the wall. She screamed, high and raw.

“Stop!” Autumn yelled, running forward, “Stop it!”

Paige was crying now, hands over her ears, “Please stop!” But no one listened.

Crow’s hand pressed down on Ruby’s arm, forcing it back, “Drop it!” he barked.

Ruby twisted, blood smearing down her arm, “You’ll kill me!”

Adrianna grabbed her other wrist, “You’re damn right we will if you don’t drop it!”

“Adrianna!” Autumn shouted, “Enough!”

Ruby kicked out, catching Adrianna’s shin. Adrianna grunted and slammed her back against the wall again.

The knife clattered from Ruby’s hand.

Blake grabbed it before he even realized he’d moved.

Ruby’s eyes met his, pleading, wild, terrified. “Please,” she whispered, “Don’t.”

“Let her go,” Autumn said, “Blake, don’t-”

But panic had already taken over the room.

Crow shouted, “She’s got another knife!”

She didn’t but the words were enough.

Blake thrust forward, the blade sinking in deep.

Ruby gasped, the air leaving her lungs in one sharp sound. Adrianna jerked back. Floyd grabbed her shoulder, yelling something that no one heard over the chaos.

Then it was all movement, Crow’s boot against Ruby’s leg, Adrianna’s knife flashing again, once, twice.

Paige screamed, Autumn’s voice broke, “Stop! Stop, stop!”

But it didn’t stop. It was over in seconds. Ruby fell, collapsing to the floor, her eyes wide, her chest rising once, twice and then not again. The silence afterward was worse than the screams.

Nobody moved.

The flashlights shook in trembling hands, beams scattered across the concrete. The air reeked of blood and iron. The only sound was the low hum of the freezer and the soft drip of something hitting the floor.

Autumn dropped to her knees beside Ruby, her voice small, “Oh my God…”

Paige stood frozen, her hands still pressed over her mouth. “You killed her,” she whispered, “You… oh my God, you killed her.”

Adrianna’s face was pale, streaked with blood. She looked down at her hands like they didn’t belong to her. “She had a knife,” she said, voice flat, “She was going to kill Paige.”

“She wasn’t!” Autumn shouted, “She was scared!”

Crow turned toward her, face unreadable, “She was a threat.”

“She was begging you to listen!”

Floyd’s voice came hoarse, “She came at us. What were we supposed to do? Let her stab someone?”

“She didn’t stab anyone!” Autumn’s voice cracked, “She didn’t-” She broke off, covering her face.

Blake still stood where he’d been, the knife loose in his hand. Blood dripped from it onto the floor. He stared at it, blinking hard, his breathing shallow.

He dropped it. The sound of it hitting the concrete echoed like a gunshot.

Autumn looked up at him, eyes wide with horror, “You,” she whispered.

He didn’t say anything, he couldn’t.

Crow crouched beside Ruby’s body, checking for a pulse, “She’s gone.”

Paige’s sobs filled the room.

Autumn turned away, pressing a hand to her mouth, “This didn’t have to happen.”

Crow stood, “It was self-defense.”

“Don’t you dare,” she snapped, “Don’t you fucking dare justify this.”

“She attacked us,” Adrianna said, voice trembling but defiant. “She grabbed Paige, you saw it.”

“She was scared,” Autumn repeated.

“Yeah,” Adrianna said coldly, “So are we.”

Floyd rubbed his forehead, pacing, “What do we do now?”

“Move the body,” Crow said, “We can’t just leave her here.”

Shirley spoke up for the first time, “Where?”

Crow looked toward the stairs, “Kitchen, walk-in fridge.”

Autumn spun around, “Are you insane?”

“She’s dead,” Crow said, “We can’t keep her in the middle of the floor.”

“So you’ll just stuff her in a fridge like meat?” Autumn shouted.

“Unless you want to sleep next to her, yeah,” Adrianna snapped.

Autumn took a step toward her, “You think this is funny?”

Adrianna’s face hardened, “No, I think it’s practical.”

Paige sobbed again, louder this time, “Stop it! Stop talking about her like that!”

Blake finally spoke, voice low and shaky, “I’ll… help.”

Autumn turned on him, furious, “Don’t you dare touch her.”

He met her eyes briefly just long enough for her to see the guilt there. He looked away immediately, “I have to.”

Crow nodded, “Floyd, Shirley, you too.”

Floyd swallowed, nodding. Shirley hesitated, then stepped forward.

Autumn stared at them all in disbelief, “You’re all losing your minds.”

Crow crouched again, grabbing Ruby under the arms, “Help me.”

Blake hesitated, then moved beside him. The body was still warm. His stomach turned as his hands slid under her shoulders.

Floyd took the legs. Together, they lifted her.

Paige turned away, shaking uncontrollably. Autumn caught her shoulders, holding her tight. “Don’t look,” she whispered, “Don’t.”

Adrianna watched in silence as they carried Ruby toward the stairs. The sound of shoes against wet concrete was deafening.

When they reached the first step, Crow paused, “Autumn, you coming?”

She didn’t move, “No.”

He shrugged, “Suit yourself.”

They disappeared up the stairs, the sound of dragging and boots fading until only the sound of the boiler remained.

The basement was still again.

Paige slid down the wall, hugging her knees, crying quietly. “We didn’t save her,” she said, “We were supposed to save her.”

Autumn crouched beside her, “I know.”

“They didn’t have to-” Paige’s voice broke, “She didn’t even do anything.”

Autumn looked at the dark trail of blood on the floor where Ruby had fallen. It glistened under the flashlight beam, spreading slowly toward the drain.

“They’ll tell themselves it was self-defense,” she said, “They’ll believe it, too.”

Paige wiped her face, “Do you believe it?”

Autumn didn’t answer. She just stared at the blood, the knife lying a few feet away. Upstairs, a door slammed. The sound made them both jump.

“They’re taking her to the fridge,” Paige whispered, “Like she’s nothing.”

“She was something,” Autumn said quietly, “She was trying to survive.”

A few minutes later, Andy and Kawayan appeared at the top of the stairs. Andy’s face was pale, “What happened?”

Autumn looked up at him, her voice flat, “They killed her.”

Kawayan’s eyes widened, “Jesus Christ.”

Paige’s sobs broke the silence again, “She had a knife,” she said. “She didn’t hurt anyone, they just… they didn’t even think.”

Andy glanced around the basement, eyes landing on the blood, “Where’s the body?”

Autumn stood slowly, brushing her hair out of her face, “They took her to the kitchen.”

“For what?” Kawayan asked, but the answer hit him before she could respond. He pressed a hand to his mouth, turning away.

Andy whispered, “This is getting out of control.”

Autumn nodded faintly, “It’s been out of control.”

The footsteps returned above them, slow and heavy. Crow’s voice carried faintly through the vents, “In there, careful.”

Paige covered her ears, rocking slightly. Autumn wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “It’s okay,” she said, though her voice was shaking, “It’s over now” but even as she said it, she knew it wasn’t. Not even close.

The group upstairs would come back soon. She could already hear the faint sound of water running in the kitchen sink, maybe someone trying to wash the blood off their hands.

Autumn tightened her arm around Paige, “Come on,” she said quietly. “Let’s go upstairs before they get back.”

Paige looked up at her, eyes red, “What do we do?”

“Nothing,” Autumn said, “For now, we do nothing.”

They started toward the stairs, Andy and Kawayan following close behind. The air felt heavier with every step, the shadows pressing closer.

Autumn stopped at the landing and looked back once more. The basement was dim now, her flashlight beam flickering over the dark stains on the floor.

She whispered, “I’m sorry, Ruby,” and turned away.

They climbed the stairs in silence. The light from above swallowed them one by one until the basement was empty again, the blood still glistening faintly under the low sound of the boiler.

Chapter Text

Morning didn’t feel like morning. It felt like the storm had simply stopped screaming long enough to catch its breath.

Gray light crept across the motel parking lot in a thin, cold sheet. The burned-out Dantree RV sat like a carcass on the gravel, blackened metal still damp with rain. The neon sign inside the lobby, TOO HOT TO DIE, flickered weakly, buzzing like it was struggling to stay alive.

Inside, the motel smelled of damp carpet and stale smoke. The air felt wrong, heavy and guilty.

Blake sat on the edge of his bed staring at the floorboards, elbows digging into his knees. He hadn’t slept. Every time he blinked, he saw Ruby’s eyes again, wide, terrified, then empty. His brain wouldn’t stop replaying it.

I did that. God… I actually did that.

He could still feel the warmth of her blood on his knuckles, even though he’d scrubbed them raw in the bathroom sink.

Crow had called it self-defense. Adrianna had shrugged it off like it was inevitable. Floyd and Shirley had said they didn’t have a choice but Blake knew better.

He’d had a choice, he just hadn’t made the right one.

Would I have grabbed a knife too, he wondered, if I were the one tied to a chair in a room with a corpse? The answer came too fast. Yeah, I would’ve.

The shame sat heavy in his lungs. He dragged a hand through his hair and finally stood. He needed air or help or forgiveness or something he wasn’t brave enough to name. He stepped into the hallway.

Floyd and Shirley sat in the lounge clutching mugs of weak instant coffee. Crow was by the exit, half-asleep in a chair, cigarette dangling from his fingers. Paige sat in the far corner wrapped in a blanket, eyes swollen, staring out at the rain.

Autumn wasn’t there, Blake felt that absence like a bruise.

Adrianna leaned against the counter eating a granola bar, eyes hollow but still somehow amused. “Morning,” she said around a mouthful, “We all survive the night? Good for us.”

Paige flinched.

Blake ignored Adrianna and looked toward the hallway, “Autumn up yet?”

Crow opened one eye, “Why? You need someone to pat your head and tell you you’re not a murderer?”

Blake stiffened, “I didn’t ask you anything.”

“Didn’t have to,” Crow muttered, letting his eye close again.

Blake walked past him before he said something stupid. He slipped outside through the front door.

The cold hit him instantly, cleaner than the air inside, but bitter. The parking lot was a lake of muddy puddles. The woods beyond leaned dark and dripping.

The sun was trying to break through the clouds but failing. Blake understood the feeling.

He wasn’t sure how long he stood there staring at nothing before he heard the door creak open behind him and he turned.

Autumn stepped out, closing the door quietly behind her. She didn’t look at him, didn’t even look in his direction. Her clothes were clean, her hair damp from a shower. Her eyes looked like she hadn’t slept either.

He swallowed, “Autumn.”

She stopped but didn’t turn her head. He took a step toward her.

“Can we talk? Please?”

She turned her face toward him slowly, the look in her eyes cool and unreadable.

“No,” she said simply.

Blake’s stomach sank, “Just… a minute.”

“Why?” she asked, “So you can explain it away like everyone else is trying to?”

“I’m not trying to explain anything,” he said, “I just-” he stopped, unsure how to finish the sentence. I just want you to stop looking at me like that. But he couldn’t say that out loud.

Autumn raised an eyebrow, “You just what?”

“I didn’t mean for it to happen,” he said quietly.

“You stabbed her, Blake.”

“I know.”

“You didn’t just hold her back or try to stop her, you stabbed her.”

The words hit harder than any punch. “I know,” he said again, voice cracking.

Autumn looked away toward the parking lot, jaw tight. “Everyone was panicking,” she said, “And she was scared and you-”

“I know,” he repeated, louder this time, “I messed up.”

“You killed her.”

Blake felt his breath hitch. I killed her. He hadn’t fully let himself think it until now.

“I didn’t want to,” he said, “I wasn’t trying to-”

“Intentions don’t matter when someone ends up dead,” she snapped.

He dropped his gaze to the wet pavement. The reflection of the neon sign trembled in a puddle at his feet.

“I froze,” he said quietly, “Everyone was yelling, she had the knife. Crow said she was going to stab us. I… I don’t know what I thought I was doing.”

“You weren’t thinking,” Autumn said, “You were reacting, that’s what scares me.”

Blake’s head snapped up, “You’re scared of me?”

Autumn didn’t answer right away, just studied him with an expression he couldn’t read. Then she said, “Should I be?”

He felt something in his chest twist painfully, “No,” he said, “God, no.”

She crossed her arms, “Last night, I watched you do something you can’t undo and I don’t know what you would’ve done if someone else had gotten in your way.”

“That’s not fair.”

“It’s honest.”

He took a shaky breath, “You think I wanted any of this?”

Autumn’s expression softened just a fraction, sympathy flickering beneath the anger. “No,” she said quietly. “I don’t think you wanted it but that doesn’t change the fact that you did it.”

He nodded slowly, “I keep thinking… if I were the one tied to that chair, terrified, thinking everyone was against me… I’d have grabbed a knife too.”

Autumn’s gaze lingered on him but she didn’t say anything.

“And if someone jumped at me,” Blake continued, “and Crow started yelling, and Floyd moved toward me…” He swallowed. “I might’ve done the same thing she did.”

Autumn sighed, “Then you understand why I can’t look at you right now.”

“Autumn,” he said, voice breaking slightly, “I’m not… this isn’t who I am.”

“I hope not.”

“Please.”

She shook her head, “Blake… I can’t do this, not right now.”

He stepped forward instinctively, “Autumn-”

She took a small step back, “Don’t.”

He froze.

“I mean it,” she said softly, “Just… give me space.”

He nodded slowly, feeling something cold settle inside him. Shame regret, something darker, too… the realization that she wasn’t wrong.

“Okay,” he whispered, “I’ll leave you alone.”

Autumn gave a tiny nod, “Thank you.”

She turned toward the motel and went inside and he followed a distance behind.

Blake watched her go, wanting to say so many things. I’m sorry, I screwed up, I’m not the person you think I am but every word felt useless.

She didn’t look back as she walked away. Her door clicked shut a moment later.

Blake stood in the doorway, staring at the empty hallway like it might give him answers.

She’s right. God, she’s right. I’m scared of myself too.

He stayed there for several minutes, hands limp at his sides, before finally turning and heading back to his room. The hallway swallowed him up, the neon sign casting red streaks along the walls like warnings he couldn’t unsee.

Autumn didn’t go back to sleep, she didn’t even try.

After closing her door behind her, she stood in the middle of her room for a long, unmoving minute. Her hands were shaking. Not violently just a faint tremor she couldn’t stop. The kind that comes after adrenaline has nowhere else to go.

She sat on the edge of the bed and stared at her palms. They were clean, but that didn’t matter. Too much blood had touched them in the past twenty-four hours… examining Hemmingway, looking at Portia's body, touching Ruby who was covered in her wife's blood.

She kept replaying the flash of terror in Ruby’s eyes. The way her voice had cracked, the moment before she fell. Autumn rubbed her face with both hands and exhaled shakily.

I’m losing them, she realized. One by one, this place is making them unravel.

Crow was becoming something ugly, Paige was drowning in guilt, Adrianna seemed almost energized by the chaos. Floyd and Shirley were hiding something but she didn't know what. Blake… She closed her eyes.

Blake was in free-fall, whether he realized it or not and she couldn’t catch him, not now.

The silence of the room pressed in hard, too still and too bright.

Autumn’s chest tightened. She stood quickly, needing to move, to breathe, to get out. She paced once, twice, then paused at the window.

The forest outside swayed gently in the morning breeze. A soft fog drifted across the gravel. Everything looked deceptively peaceful like the world didn’t know a woman had died here last night or maybe it did, and it just didn’t care.

She pressed her forehead to the cool glass and forced herself to inhale, then exhale. Again. Again.

When she finally stepped back, she felt a little steadier, not better, just steady enough to walk out the door without breaking. She grabbed her sweater and left her room, shutting the door as quietly as she could.

The hallway was empty, most people were either in the lounge or hiding in their rooms.

Autumn avoided the lounge. She didn’t want to face Crow or Adrianna and she definitely didn’t want to see Blake again, not while her emotions were still raw and not when she couldn’t guarantee she’d keep her voice down.

She went the opposite direction instead, toward Andy’s room.

Something about him had stayed with her all night, not suspicion, not fear. Just an ache.

The way he had stood in the corner of the basement, frozen… not in shock the way Paige had been, but with a different kind of pain, a quieter one. A pain that had nothing to do with Ruby’s death and everything to do with something he had carried long before stepping into the Cold River Motel.

She knocked lightly.

For a moment, she wasn’t sure he’d answer, then she heard movement.

The door cracked open, and Andy blinked out at her, hair mussed, eyes tired but alert. He’d been awake awhile, she recognized that look.

“Autumn?” he asked quietly, “Everything okay?”

She offered a small, hesitant smile, “I could ask you the same thing.”

He stepped aside, “Come in.”

She slipped into the room. It was neater than most of the others. Andy wasn’t the type to leave things scattered. His suitcase was zipped shut in the corner, just one notebook and his jacket on the small table by the bed.

Autumn sat on the edge of the chair while he sat on the bed, elbows on his knees.

For a moment, neither of them spoke. It wasn’t awkward, just heavy. The way silence sometimes settles between two people who recognize something in each other.

“You didn’t sleep,” Autumn said softly.

Andy gave a humorless laugh, “Hard to sleep after… all that.”

“Yeah,” she said, “It was a bad night.”

He nodded, “Pretty brutal.”

Another quiet pause.

Autumn took a breath, “Can I ask you something? Something personal?”

Andy stiffened, barely but enough for her to notice, “Depends on the question.”

She met his eyes gently, “Does being here feel… different for you? Harder? Because of… who you are?”

He frowned, “Who I am?”

She hesitated, choosing her words carefully. “Andy… I know I might be wrong and I’m not trying to make assumptions but-” Her voice softened. “Caitlyn Ridgeley, you look like her.”

His jaw tightened instantly, “Autumn-”

“I’m not accusing you of anything,” she said quickly. “It’s just your facial structure and your age and…” She exhaled, “I’ve studied the case, I know those photos by heart.”

Andy’s eyes flicked away. His throat worked as he swallowed.

“You don’t have to confirm it,” she added gently, “I’m not here to expose you.”

He sat very still for a long moment. The seconds stretched, quiet and careful.

Finally, he spoke. His voice was low and guarded, “I haven’t told anyone.”

“I know,” she said.

“I don’t want people treating me like some tragic footnote in a documentary.”

“I won’t,” she promised.

His jaw clenched, “And I don’t want them thinking I came here to… relive it or to get attention or because it means something symbolic, it doesn’t.”

“You sure?” Autumn asked softly.

Andy looked at her then, really looked and something in his expression cracked.

“It means I’m standing where my mother died,” he said, “And I hate that this place has a gift shop and a neon sign like it’s some roadside attraction.”

Autumn felt her chest ache, “Yeah,” she whispered, “I know.”

He shook his head, “People talk about her like she’s a ghost story, not a person, not a mother.”

“She was a person,” Autumn said, “You’re proof of that.”

He blinked hard, and Autumn pretended not to notice the way his eyes glistened.

She spoke softly, “I didn’t tell anyone because it’s not my story but being here, it can’t be easy. Especially now, everything that’s happened…”

Andy exhaled shakily, “Last night, I heard you try to stop them, I was… I don’t know. Grateful, I guess.”

“For what?”

“For actually treating death like it means something,” He looked down at his hands, “Most people don’t.”

Autumn’s voice gentled, “I became a forensic anthropologist because I wanted to make sure people weren’t forgotten. That their stories didn’t get buried, literally or emotionally. That someone stood up for them, even after they were gone.”

Andy let out a quiet breath, “My mom would’ve liked you.”

Autumn smiled, small and honest, “I think I would’ve liked her too.”

He rubbed the back of his neck, “I don’t want the others to know, not with how paranoid everyone is. They’ll turn it into something weird.”

“I won’t let that happen,” she said.

He looked up, meeting her gaze, “Thank you.”

“No need to thank me.”

“I mean it,” Andy said softly, “Everyone else has lost it but you’re… I don’t know. Holding things together.”

Autumn snorted lightly, “Barely.”

“That still counts.”

Another quiet stretched between them, but this one was different…easier.

Finally, Autumn stood, “You should eat something or try to rest. Today… is going to be a lot.”

Andy nodded, “I know.”

She walked to the door.

“Autumn?” he said.

She turned.

“It means something that you asked,” he said quietly, “Even if I wasn’t ready to hear it.”

She offered him a gentle smile, “Anytime.”

Then she stepped into the hallway and closed the door behind her, exhaling a soft breath she hadn’t realized she was holding.

For the first time since Ruby fell, she didn’t feel completely alone.

Chapter Text

The Cold River Motel had stopped feeling like a place people were meant to sleep. By night, it felt more like a building holding its breath.

The storm had blown itself out, leaving behind a low ceiling of clouds and an air so still it felt staged. The puddles in the parking lot were mirror-flat. The burned skeleton of the Dantrees’ RV sat like a warning at the edge of the lot. The neon sign above the office, TOO HOT TO DIE, buzzed without rhythm, dimming every few seconds like it was getting tired.

Inside, the carpets were still damp from the humidity. The walls creaked in ways that felt intentional. No one spoke much anymore. Conversation had become dangerous, either because someone would yell, or someone would cry, or someone would say something they couldn’t take back.

Autumn spent most of the day with Paige, making sure she ate something, even if it was only a few bites of dry granola. Andy stayed mostly in his room. Adrianna drifted around like it was all entertainment. Floyd and Shirley spoke in whispers among themselves.

And Blake… Blake was unraveling quietly in the corner of every room he entered.

Autumn saw it the moment she looked at him. He avoided eye contact, avoided speaking, avoided being in small spaces for too long.

He didn’t sleep, either. She knew the look of someone who’d spent the night replaying things they couldn’t undo. She understood that feeling better than she wanted to admit but she didn’t speak to him.

Not while she still felt her stomach twist when she remembered his face in the basement, confused, horrified… and still stabbing.

Everyone stayed on edge that day. No one wandered off alone, not even Adrianna. Paige shadowed Autumn, unwilling to leave her side. Shirley followed Floyd. Blake kept his distance from everyone, but he stayed near the group at all times.

Only Crow drifted away.

He spent most of the afternoon rummaging through the storage hallway, muttering to himself about “energy” and “unfinished business.” When he wasn’t doing that, he sat cross-legged in the lobby with his eyes closed like he was meditating, though it looked more like he was trying not to collapse.

He’d become obsessed. Not with the murders, he’d always been fixated on those but with something else. Something sharper, something feverish. He checked the basement repeatedly as if expecting Ruby to rise and walk out of it. He stared at the pentagram on the floor for minutes at a time.

Once, he asked Paige to lie in the center of it again “for calibration.” She burst into tears, Autumn nearly hit him.

After that, Crow became even quieter. His energy settled into something eerie, hollow, determined.

Autumn noticed something else too, he’d begun watching her. Just for seconds at a time, but enough that she felt the hairs on her arms lift.

She didn’t acknowledge it, she didn’t want to start another argument, there had been enough of those already.

By midnight, the motel felt even more claustrophobic than before.

Most of the group retreated to their rooms early, exhausted not just in body but in spirit. The lights in the hallway hummed weakly. A faint draft crawled beneath the doors. The smell of damp wallpaper filled every crevice.

Autumn stayed awake by the window for a long time, watching the tree line. She wasn’t looking for anything specific, just letting her brain move, letting her nerves unwind but every rustle of branches made her tense. Every distant creak made her sit upright.

She didn’t expect to sleep, she didn’t try.

Sometime around one in the morning, distant footsteps echoed down the hall.

Soft. Slow. Dragging.

She stiffened.

Crow.

She didn’t have to open the door to know it was him, the rhythm of the footsteps was too uneven to be anyone else.

He paused outside her door. She held her breath. He didn’t knock. Didn’t speak but she felt him there, felt his presence like a pressure against her back. One second, ten seconds, thirty. Then he moved on.

Autumn waited until the sound faded down the hall before exhaling.

Paige wasn’t so lucky.

Two minutes later, Paige slipped into the hallway, eyes wide, “He knocked on my door.”

Autumn’s stomach dropped, “Did you answer it?”

“No,” Paige whispered, “He just stood there, I heard him breathing.”

Autumn clenched her jaw. She walked Paige back to her room, checked the lock twice, then returned to her own room and leaned against the door.

He’s losing it, she thought. And tonight he’s going to do something he can’t take back.

She didn’t know how right she was.

Around 2:30 a.m., Crow slipped into the lobby alone.

Autumn didn’t see him go, none of them did. They only heard the front door creak closed again. The click of the lock turning from the inside. The rustling sounds that followed.

Shirley sat awake in her room, listening. So did Blake.

After 30 minutes, they heard a drip, like water hitting wood.

After a couple of minutes, one by one everyone popped their head out of their doors. They exchanged uneasy glances, Autumn walked out of the door first. The rest of the group followed behind her as she made her way toward the lobby, to where the sound was coming from.

The lobby door was closed.

A dark streak, thick, red, almost black, seeped from beneath it, pooling over the carpet.

Paige gagged, “No. No no no no-”

“It’s locked,” Blake said, rattling the handle, “It’s fucking locked-”

Adrianna stepped forward and kicked the door hard. It didn’t budge. Andy braced beside her and slammed his shoulder into it, but it only groaned.

Autumn didn’t waste time yelling, “Floyd,” she snapped, “hit it with that fire extinguisher.”

Floyd grabbed it from the wall and rammed the metal tank into the door three times. On the third strike, the door cracked and swung open with a creak that echoed down the hall.

Autumn went in first, she stopped so abruptly Paige crashed into her back.

“Autumn, what-?”

Then Paige saw and screamed.

Crow was on the far wall, nailed to it.

Two thick iron spikes pinned his wrists wide apart, arms stretched in a crucifixion pose. His feet were dangling inches off the ground. His shirt was soaked through with blood, the fabric torn where the nails had ripped through.

His head hung forward, chin to chest.

A pentagram was drawn behind him on the wall, huge, painted in long, sloppy streaks of blood. Some of it still dripped in thin lines, leaving dark trails on the wallpaper.

The room smelled metallic, sharp and suffocating. Paige collapsed backward into Shirley, who shrieked. Andy froze, eyes wide with trembling horror. Adrianna’s jaw dropped open in something like stunned fascination. Floyd said nothing, just stared with a look of white desperation.

Blake felt something in his chest seize like his lungs had been punched from the inside out.

He heard Autumn’s breath catch…a quiet, sharp inhale she barely let out but then Crow lifted his head. Not fully, just an inch, just enough that his face came into view.

His mouth…

Autumn’s stomach lurched.

His mouth was sewn shut.

Thick black thread pierced his lips, looping tightly through torn flesh. Blood oozed around the stitches.

Blake stumbled forward, “Oh God… Crow-”

Crow’s eyes fluttered open.

He was alive.

Barely but alive.

His breathing was ragged, shallow, harsh. His pupils were blown wide with pain and something else… fear. Real, human fear. The first genuine emotion they’d seen from him since the weekend began.

Paige sobbed, “Crow… Crow, look at me-”

But he wasn’t looking at Paige. He wasn’t looking at Blake. He wasn’t looking at any of them. He was looking at Autumn. Directly at her.

His gaze sharpened, focused, like she was the only thing he recognized in the room. It chilled her to the bone.

“Autumn-” Blake choked, “He’s… he’s still alive, we have to get him down.”

Autumn swallowed hard, forcing her voice to stay level, “Don’t touch him yet.”

“But-”

“Blake,” she snapped, “if we pull him the wrong way, we could tear his arms clean through. Let me think.”

Crow gagged… a wet, rattling sound behind the stitches. Blood bubbled at the corners of his mouth.

Paige covered her ears, “I can’t…I can’t listen to that.”

Autumn stepped closer slowly, carefully, her pulse pounding, “Crow, If you can hear me, blink.”

Crow blinked once.

“Good,” she whispered, “I’m going to get you down but I need you to stay still.”

His eyes widened in terror. Not at the nails. Not at the pain. At something, possibly behind them, something only he could see. It was the last clear moment he had left.

He strained against the stitches. His mouth opened, threads snapping with wet tearing sounds.

Autumn took a step forward, “Crow, stop, you’ll only-”

He forced a sound through torn lips. One syllable.

“Y-”

A guttural choke cut him off as his head snapped back.

For a split second, he looked directly toward Autumn as if seeing a ghost standing behind her. Then his entire body shuddered hard, then again and then he went still. Completely still.

Autumn’s arms fell slowly to her sides.

Blake whispered, “He’s dead.”

Paige’s scream ripped through the lobby. Paige’s scream shattered whatever shock still clung to the room.

Shirley stumbled back into Floyd. Andy clenched his fists like he needed to anchor himself to something. Adrianna’s lips parted, not in horror, but in some strange, captivated awe. Blake pressed a hand to his mouth, swallowing hard against the bile rising in his throat.

Autumn didn’t scream, she didn’t gasp, she didn’t even step back, she stepped forward.

Her mind snapped into a mode she knew well. The same mode she’d relied on during field recoveries, mass fatality reconstructions, and scenes worse than this, though none felt as personal.

“Everyone stop,” she said, voice low, firm.

Paige sobbed louder, “We can’t just watch him-”

“Paige,” Autumn said sharply, “Listen, If we don’t do this right, we’ll tear his arms off.”

Paige covered her mouth and nodded quickly, trembling.

Autumn approached the wall slowly, examining the angle of the spikes, the depth of penetration, how Crow’s shoulders sagged. His body had already begun losing heat, she could feel it radiating outward in dying waves.

“Andy,” she said quietly, “I need you behind him, when we take the first spike out, you’re going to support his weight.”

Andy nodded, pale but steady, “Tell me when.”

“Blake, you’re with me. We remove the spikes at the same time.”

Blake stared at her, “Autumn… I don’t know if I can-”

“You can,” she said, meeting his eyes, voice soft but unshakable. “He’s heavy. I need you to help me or his body will fall.”

Blake swallowed, nodded, “Okay, yeah, I got it.”

Adrianna leaned against the wall near the door, arms crossed. “Realistically,” she said, voice cool, “whoever did this is probably still in the building.”

Autumn didn’t turn, “Not helpful.”

“Just saying.”

“Don’t,” Autumn snapped. It was the closest she’d come to yelling in days.

Adrianna raised both hands in surrender and backed off.

Autumn positioned herself at Crow’s right arm. Blake took the left, his breath shallow, trembling.

Andy stepped behind Crow and placed his hands under Crow’s ribcage, “Ready when you are.”

Autumn took a deep breath, “Okay, Blake, on my count. Three…”

Blake tightened his grip on the spike.

“Two…”

Crow’s head lolled forward, chin resting on his chest. His eyes, partially open, seemed to stare at the floor.

“One.”

They pulled.

The spike shrieked as it scraped free of the wood. Crow’s right arm collapsed instantly, dead weight falling into Andy’s hold. Andy grunted but didn’t slip.

“One more,” Autumn said, quieter now, almost a whisper.

“Ready,” Blake said, though his voice broke.

They grabbed the second spike.

“One… two… three.”

They yanked.

The left spike tore free with a jolt that made Blake stumble back. Crow’s entire body sagged against Andy. For a moment, Andy held him upright then gently lowered him to the floor.

Shirley sobbed again, “Oh god…”

Paige turned away, shaking violently, whispering something over and over that no one could hear.

Blake stared at Crow’s limp, blood-smeared body and felt something dark and sour twist in his stomach.

He wasn’t a good man, Blake told himself. He wasn’t kind. He wasn’t stable. He wasn’t… anyone I should be mourning.

But it didn’t help.

Watching the man bleed out, watching the stitches tear, watching the last desperate look Crow gave Autumn… none of it felt right.

We did this, his brain whispered. Not directly but we caused it. We lit the fuse the moment we tied Ruby to that chair.

Autumn gently touched Crow’s neck.

No pulse.

She nodded once, “He’s gone.”

Blake exhaled shakily, the room was too warm, too cold and too still.

Floyd scrubbed a hand down his face, “Who in the hell did this?”

Adrianna shrugged, “Take your pick.”

Shirley snapped, “Not the time.”

Autumn stood, wiping her bloody fingers on her jeans without noticing, “We need to move him.”

Paige’s head jerked up, “W-why? Can’t we… leave him? Just for a minute?”

Autumn looked at her, expression softening. “Paige… he can’t stay on the floor and I don’t want the body sitting out in open air for hours. It’s unsafe, for all of us.”

Paige nodded weakly.

Andy lifted Crow from beneath the arms. Blake took the legs. Crow’s head flopped limply to one side, stitches hanging from his torn lips like dark threads of a puppet.

They carried him out of the lobby.

Autumn pushed the walk-in fridge door open.

Cold air rushed out, smelling like metal and freezer burn.

Blake couldn’t stop his eyes flicking toward the other bodies, the shapes beneath white sheets, familiar outlines he’d been trying not to think about.

Hemmingway, Portia, Ruby.

Three bodies… three deaths… well four now.

They set Crow down on the metal shelf beside the others.

Autumn pulled the sheet up over his face. The fabric ghosted across the stitches and caught briefly in the threads before sliding into place.

The fridge door shut with a heavy latch. A final sound. A closing but not an ending.

No one slept.

Paige cried silently in her room. Shirley whispered into Floyd’s ear. Adrianna paced the hallway, restless. Andy prayed quietly with the lights off. Kawayan sketched Crow’s wall pose over and over, hands shaking, unable to stop himself.

Blake sat in his bed staring at his hands. Autumn sat in hers, staring at nothing.

Every creak of the motel walls felt intentional. Every gust of wind against the siding made someone flinch. Every shadow seemed to move.

The hours were long, unkind and full of dread.

Fog clung to the windows. The neon sign flickered weakly. The birds that usually chirped at dawn were eerily silent, like they, too, kept their distance.

Autumn went to the fridge first.

She didn’t trust the stillness of the night. Didn’t trust the way the motel felt lighter after the sun rose. Didn’t trust that whoever was killing them had suddenly decided to rest.

She opened the fridge. Her breath caught.

One shelf empty.

Then a whisper behind her.

“What is it?”

Blake.

She swallowed hard, “He’s gone.”

Blake blinked, “What?”

“Crow,” she repeated, “His body is missing.”

Blake pushed past her to look.

The stainless steel table was empty. The sheet that had covered Crow was gone. Hemmingway, Portia and Ruby remained exactly where they’d been placed.

“What the hell…” he murmured.

Paige appeared in the doorway, rubbing her eyes, “What’s going-”

She saw the empty table and froze. Then she screamed.

Autumn grabbed her shoulders, steadying her. “Paige… Paige, stop. We don’t know what happened yet.”

“What do you mean we don’t… his body…he’s…he’s gone, Autumn!”

Blake backed up, hands in his hair. “Someone moved him, someone came in here in the middle of the night and moved him.”

Floyd and Shirley stumbled in next.

Shirley let out a gasp, “Oh god, oh god"

Adrianna leaned against the wall, pale, “Who the hell sneaks into a fridge to drag out a corpse?”

No one had an answer.

Autumn forced herself to breathe, slowly and methodically.

“We need to search the building,” she said, “All of it. Now.”

So they did.

They split unwillingly into two groups.

Autumn, Blake, Andy, and Paige checked the east wing. Adrianna, Floyd, Shirley, and Kawayan checked the west.

They looked under beds, behind curtains. Inside closets, laundry carts, supply rooms. They checked the basement last, creeping down the stairs with flashlights that shook in their hands.

Nothing. Not a sign. No blood trails. No drag marks. No footprints. No disturbed dust.

It was like Crow had evaporated.

Andy whispered, “This doesn’t make sense…”

Paige clung to Autumn’s sleeve, sobbing quietly. “I want to go home…I want to go home…we shouldn't have come here.”

Blake closed his eyes. We’re being played.

That was the only explanation that made sense. Someone was staging these scenes, meticulously, cruelly, with purpose.

But why?

He didn’t know and he was too scared to think that far.

They regrouped in the kitchen… drained, shaken, unsure what to do next.

Floyd paced, “He’s here, somewhere, dead people don’t just vanish.”

Shirley rubbed her arms like she was freezing, “He’s going to show up, I know he is.”

Adrianna exhaled sharply, “Then let’s keep looking, I didn’t sign up to be hunted.”

Autumn leaned against the counter, rubbing her forehead. Her pulse hammered behind her eyes. She felt the wrongness of it. Every bone in her body screamed that they were missing something.

Blake stayed close, close enough to catch her if she fainted, far enough not to push her boundaries. “We’ll figure it out,” he murmured.

She didn’t respond because that was when Andy yelled from the lounge, “GUYS! HEY! COME HERE! NOW!”

Everyone sprinted and froze.

Crow was sitting neatly in one of the leather lounge chairs. Like he’d simply gotten up and walked over but he hadn’t walked. Someone placed him there.

His posture was too tidy, back straight, hands folded loosely on his lap. His head tilted slightly to the left. Like he was politely listening to someone.

Paige screamed behind Blake. Shirley backed up into Floyd’s arms. Adrianna muttered “holy shit” under her breath, awe and revulsion mixing.

Blake felt his stomach twist into a tight knot.

Crow’s face…

His mouth…

Someone had carved a smile into his cheeks.

A wide, gaping smile stretching from cheekbone to cheekbone. Deep. Wet. Fresh. Teeth peeked through the torn flesh. His eyes were half-open, clouded, staring straight ahead.

Autumn stepped forward, breath trembling. Not because she believed in ghosts but because whoever was doing this… Whoever was moving bodies, staging them… was getting bolder. Smarter. Closer.

She swallowed hard, her voice came out barely audible, “it's escalating.”

Chapter Text

They stood around Crow's carved-smile corpse for a long, paralyzed minute.

Not talking. Not moving. Just breaking.

The morning light through the lounge windows made everything worse. It wasn’t dark enough to hide anything. The smile was too clear, too precise, too inhuman. His half-open eyes reflected the washed-out gray of the storm clouds, staring at something none of them could see.

Paige cried without sound, one hand over her mouth, the other clutching Autumn’s sleeve. Adrianna hovered several feet back, fascinated and horrified in equal measure, as if watching a slow-motion train wreck. Shirley shood silently beside Floyd a look of shock on both their faces. Andy looked sick, pale, hollowed out. Kawayan was silent but looking like he might pass out.

Every single person was visibly falling apart.

Except Autumn.

She was stone.

She studied the body with clinical stillness, her breath slow, her eyes sharp. She wasn’t unaffected. Blake could see the tremor beneath her composure, the faint tightening around her jaw but she didn’t let it show. She was mentally cataloging everything… the angle of the cuts, the blood pooling, the stiffness of the limbs.

Blake envied her for that because he couldn’t breathe. Not properly. Not fully.

His lungs felt trapped in a vice. His hands shook so violently he couldn’t steady them. He stumbled backward until he hit the corner of the wall, then slid down it, his knees giving out.

The room blurred.

Crow’s face blurred but Blake only saw the smile.

That carved, impossible smile. The same one he’d seen before.

On his fraternity brothers. On his girlfriend. On the walls. On the floor. Everywhere. The signature.

No. No no no no no no…

He grabbed his head with both hands, fingers clutching his hair, heart hammering so hard he thought he might pass out.

It’s happening again. The smile…the same fucking smile… This can’t be, it can’t be.

He felt the world closing in on him. His throat tightened. Cold sweat dripped down his spine. There was a roaring sound in his ears, drowning out the voices in the room.

He saw flashes:

His frat house.
His girlfriend’s lifeless eyes.
The floor covered in blood.
The killer’s mask.
The circle of bodies.
The carved mouths.
The door.
Him running.

The Sigma Die Killer’s signature.

The one he wrote about in his book. The one everyone praised him for “surviving.” The one he embellished, not the actual ugliness, not the truth but the parts that made him look brave.

He could still smell the blood from that night. Still feel the weight of his dead girlfriend's body on the floor. Still hear the killer whispering through the mask, he had run and lied and survived.

He tried to push the memories away but they flooded through him like a dam breaking.

Someone was saying his name. He couldn’t respond. Someone touched his shoulder. He flinched violently and shoved himself farther into the corner, curling in on himself.

“Blake?” Paige said shakily. “Blake, talk to us-”

He shook his head over and over. “No. No no no. Not again. Please. Not again…”

The shaking worsened. His breathing turned into panicked gasps, high and sharp, like he was drowning.

Floyd stepped forward, glaring. “Jesus Christ, man, get a grip!”

Paige snapped, “Floyd, stop-”

“No, seriously,” Floyd barked. “Look at him! He’s acting like he knows something we don’t. Look at the way he freaked out when he saw Crow. What’s that about?”

Blake stared at the floor, heart convulsing against his ribs. Don’t say it. Don’t tell them. They’ll look at you the same way. They’ll know you ran. They’ll know you lied. They’ll… His mind spiraled.

Floyd advanced on him. “Answer me! What the hell is wrong with you?”

“Floyd.” Autumn’s voice was sharp, cold.

He ignored her.

“What kind of reaction is that, huh?” Floyd said, stepping closer. “You see a dead body and fall apart like your world is ending. Why? Why are you acting so guilty?”

Guilty. The word was a knife. He saw his girlfriend’s face again. He saw himself running. He thinks I’m guilty. If he knew… if any of them knew…

“Stop,” Blake whispered. “Stop. Please.”

Floyd didn’t stop. He grabbed Blake by the collar and yanked him up from the floor, slamming him against the wall. Blake let out a strangled cry, his breath knocked out of him.

“STOP!” Paige screamed. “Floyd, what are you doing?!”

Shirley cried, “Floyd, please! Let him go!” But Floyd didn’t hear them or didn’t care.

He pinned Blake to the wall with his forearm. “Tell us why you’re freaking out like this! Why do carved mouths set you off, huh? Why does this look familiar to you? WHY?!”

Blake squeezed his eyes shut. He didn’t want to be here. Didn’t want to be seen like this. Didn’t want them to know.

They’ll think I did it. They’ll think I’m like him. They’ll think I’m guilty.

His entire body trembled uncontrollably.

“Floyd.” Autumn’s voice was low, dangerous. “I’m telling you to stop.”

He didn’t turn. Didn’t loosen his grip.

“Maybe he’s the one we should be afraid of,” Floyd growled. “Ever since he got here he’s been jumpy, paranoid like someone expecting things to happen and now he’s crying like he just saw an old friend. Why is that, Blake? Why does this feel familiar to you?”

“STOP!” Autumn yelled.

He slammed Blake harder into the wall and that was it.

Autumn crossed the room in two strides. There was no warning. No hesitation. No pause. Her fist connected with Floyd’s jaw so hard the crack echoed through the entire lounge.

Floyd’s head snapped to the side. His body staggered backward, crashing into a chair and falling sideways into a heap. He groaned, touching his jaw where blood trickled from his lip.

Paige gasped. Shirley screamed. Adrianna’s eyebrows shot up impressed. Andy stiffened.

Blake collapsed into a crouch, holding his chest, sobbing into his hands.

Autumn placed herself between Blake and Floyd, standing like she intended to fight an army alone if she had to.

“You don’t touch him,” she said, voice trembling not with fear but with fury.

Floyd spat blood. “What the fuck is wrong with you?!”

Autumn didn’t flinch. “He’s terrified and you’re beating him when he’s already on the ground. You think that makes you tough?”

“He’s dangerous!” Floyd snapped. “Look at him! He’s unstable, screaming, shaking acting like he knows what’s going on! We should be questioning him, not comforting him!”

Blake’s sobs got louder. He pressed himself against the wall, curling into himself, sweating so badly his shirt clung to his back. His breathing stuttered.

I’m a mess. I’m a total fucking mess. They’re right to be scared of me. They see what I am. Weak. Guilty. Pathetic.

Autumn crouched beside him, blocking the others with her body.

“Blake,” she said softly. “It’s okay. You’re okay. I’m here.”

He shook his head violently. “N-no. No I’m not…I’m not…I’m not-”

“It’s okay,” she repeated. “You’re safe” but Blake didn’t feel safe at all.

He felt like he was right back in that frat house. On the floor. Bleeding. Listening to screaming upstairs. Hearing the killer breathing through the mask. Waiting for someone to find the bodies. Being the only one left. His whole body convulsed with panic.

“See?!” Floyd shouted. “Look at him! He’s losing it! And that makes him a danger to all of us!”

Autumn snapped her head toward Floyd. “You’re the danger.”

He laughed bitterly. “Me? Please, I’m the only sane one here!”

“You shoved a traumatized man into the wall because you were scared.” Her voice was cold enough to freeze blood. “That’s not sanity, that’s cowardice.”

Floyd got to his feet, glaring. “You think I’m going to let him freak out and get one of us killed next?”

Autumn straightened, stepping fully between Floyd and Blake again. “Try to touch him again,” she said quietly, “and I swear I’ll make sure you don’t walk away.”

“Autumn…” Shirley whispered, eyes wide. “Please…” But Autumn didn’t look away from Floyd.

Blake watched her through bleary, panicked tears.

She was angry at him, at the situation, at everything but she was still protecting him. Even after Ruby. Even after everything. She didn’t step back. She didn’t abandon him and Blake’s chest clenched with something he didn’t have a name for, something warm and painful all at once.

Floyd’s glare faltered and he stepped back.

Autumn exhaled shakily, her hands still clenched into fists. “Everyone needs to calm down,” she said, “Now.”

Adrianna scoffed. “Good luck with that.”

Paige was still crying softly. Andy stood silently near the corner. Shirley clung to Floyd’s arm, whispering his name as if trying to pull him back into himself.

The room swayed around Blake. His breathing came in short, stuttering bursts. He felt like he was floating outside his own body.

Autumn crouched beside him again, gentler this time, her voice low. “Blake… look at me.”

He didn’t. He couldn’t. His entire world was spinning.

Autumn touched his shoulder lightly, barely applying pressure. “I need you to breathe.”

He choked on a sob, “I…I can’t-”

“Yes, you can,” she murmured. “Just breathe. In… and out.”

He tried and failed and tried again. His chest burned with every gasp.

Autumn shot a cold look at the others. “Give us space.”

Everyone backed away except Paige, who hovered uncertainly until Autumn shook her head gently. Paige nodded and stepped back.

Blake curled inward, trembling like a leaf in a storm.

Autumn leaned close, her voice a whisper meant only for him. “Blake… you’re not alone.”

He swallowed a sob, pressing his palms into his eyes. He had never felt more exposed. More pathetic, more terrified but Autumn didn’t flinch.

She didn’t leave. She didn’t look disgusted by him. She looked… worried and pissed at anyone who hurt him. She stood slowly, still blocking him from Floyd’s view and in that moment, her voice became sharp again, slicing through the room:

“This ends. Now.”

The room fell silent. Blake trembled behind her, barely holding himself together. Autumn looked over her shoulder, once, at him. Then back at the others.

“Enough” and that was the moment the entire group realized Autumn was not someone you pushed. Not someone you ignored. Not someone you challenged. She was the only stable person left in the building and Blake… Blake was the one she chose to protect.

Autumn didn’t look back after punching Floyd. She grabbed Blake’s arm and pulled him down the hallway. He didn’t resist, he couldn’t.

His breath kept stuttering in short, broken bursts. His hands shook visibly at his sides. The carved smile on Crow’s face had detonated something inside him, and he was still staggering through the shrapnel of it.

Autumn’s shoulder throbbed as she walked, the stab wound pulsing hot beneath the bandage but she didn’t slow. Pain was manageable. Blake coming apart wasn’t.

She pushed open her door with her good arm, “Inside.”

He obeyed without thought. The door closed behind them with a soft but final click, shutting out the muffled arguing in the lounge.

Blake stood there in the dim light, looking wrecked. His eyes were red-rimmed. His chest rose and fell too fast. Sweat clung to his hairline. He kept swallowing like he was trying not to be sick.

“Sit,” Autumn said gently.

He dropped onto the edge of her bed like his legs couldn’t hold him anymore.

She turned on the small lamp near the nightstand. Warm, low light filled the room. It made her shoulder ache less, made the walls feel closer but safer.

Blake pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes. “I’m sorry.”

“No,” she said. “Don’t apologize.”

“I freaked out in front of everyone, again.” His laugh was rough, miserable. “I looked pathetic.”

“You looked human.”

He shook his head, breath trembling. “That smile Autumn, it was the exact same cut. The same curve, the same…” His voice cracked. “I was right back there.”

She sat beside him carefully, mindful of her shoulder. “You don’t have to explain. We all recognized it.”

His breath hitched. “Yeah, they all know. Everyone but Floyd, anyway.”

Autumn studied him. His fingers still shook. His shoulders trembled. He looked like someone who’d been dragged through ten years of trauma in ten seconds.

She reached out and touched his forearm lightly. “You’re here, not there.”

He let out a broken breath. “It doesn’t feel like I’m here.”

“I know,” she murmured.

He looked up at her, eyes searching hers like he needed something to anchor him.

“Why are you being so nice to me?” he asked quietly. “You’re mad at me. You should be.”

Autumn let that sit before she answered. “Anger and compassion aren’t mutually exclusive.”

He blinked.

“You were terrified,” she went on. “Your brain recognized something before you could make sense of it. That’s not weakness.”

“It felt like weakness.”

“It’s not.”

He swallowed hard. “Floyd thought I was dangerous.”

“Floyd is scared,” Autumn said. “And he handled it badly.”

He huffed, bitter. “Understatement.”

“Blake.” She lifted his chin gently with her fingers. “Look at me.”

He did.

Her eyes held something fierce, protective and something gentler too, something she wasn’t usually willing to show.

“You are not dangerous to me,” she said quietly.

His breath faltered.

For a long moment, they just looked at each other.

Then Blake whispered, “Can I just… hold onto you for a minute? Without it being weird?”

Autumn didn’t answer with words.

She reached for him with her good arm and pulled him against her chest.

He inhaled sharply, then let his body fall into hers, heavy, desperate, clutching the back of her sweater like he might fall apart if he didn’t hold on.

His face pressed into her collarbone. His breath shook against her neck. His arms wrapped around her waist.

Autumn didn’t move, didn’t speak, just held him steady. Her hand slid up into his hair, fingers combing gently. She felt his tears dampen her shoulder. She didn’t mention it.

After a long stretch of quiet, Blake lifted his head slightly. Their faces were close, too close to pretend otherwise.

His eyes flicked to her lips. Then back to her eyes. Then her lips again.

Autumn saw it but she didn’t pull away.

“Autumn,” he whispered, voice raw, “can I… kiss you?”

Her heartbeat thudded once, hard.

Then she nodded. “Yeah.”

He kissed her softly at first, almost cautiously, testing whether she’d change her mind.

She didn’t.

Her hand slid to his jaw, guiding him back into the kiss. His lips parted, hers did too. Heat bloomed between them…slow, warm, rising.

He pulled back long enough to whisper, “You sure?”

“Yes.”

He kissed her again, deeper.

She tasted like mint tea and adrenaline. He tasted like salt and exhaustion. Her fingers curled in his hair. His hands found her waist. He pulled her closer instinctively and she shifted onto his lap, one knee sliding along the mattress as she straddled him.

He gasped softly at the movement. She felt the sound vibrate against her mouth.

Her body pressed into his. He held her as if she might vanish if he didn’t, one hand sliding under her sweater to trace the warm skin along her waist.

She inhaled sharply.

“You okay?” he whispered against her lips.

“My shoulder,” she murmured.

He froze, “Shit…I’m sorry”

She took his face in her good hand and kissed him again, slow and reassuring. “Just be careful.”

“I will,” he promised, voice low.

He removed her sweater carefully, helping her lift her injured arm without strain. He worked slowly, methodically, reverently. She felt the caution in every movement, saw it in the tension in his brow.

Then his shirt came off, and she traced the lines of his ribs, the faint old scars, the newer bruises.

He trembled. Not from fear, from wanting her, from relief, from all of it mixed together.

She kissed his collarbone, then his throat. His breath caught hard in his chest.

“Autumn,” he whispered like a plea.

He laid her back carefully onto the mattress, making sure not to trap her injured shoulder. His body hovered over hers, warm, trembling, tentative.

She tugged him down with her good hand.

Their mouths collided again slower now, fuller, hungry in a gentle way. Her legs wrapped around his waist. His hand slid up her side, fingers brushing the edge of her bra. She arched toward him in answer, and he breathed her name like it was a prayer.

The bed creaked softly as they moved. Breaths deepened. Kisses lengthened. Touch grew warmer.

Every motion was careful around her wound. Every shift came with a whisper…“Here?” “This okay?” “Is that better?” and soft “yes”es from her, quiet but sure.

Clothes fell away slowly, one at a time, like shedding layers of fear.

They didn’t rush. The world outside the room… the murders, the carved smile, the fear blurred to irrelevance.

There was only this… Her body warm beneath his. His breath trembling against her skin. Her fingers gripping his back, pulling him closer. His mouth moving down her neck with aching tenderness.

He braced his weight with one arm so he wouldn’t press on her shoulder. She guided him with her good hand, her breaths growing unsteady as their bodies aligned.

When they finally came together fully, it wasn’t frantic or rough, it was slow. Careful, deep, a synchronized exhale of need and fear and relief. Her fingers curled in his hair. His lips brushed her cheek, her jaw, her throat.

“Still okay?” he murmured.

“Yes,” she whispered.

He moved with deliberately gentle rhythm, mindful of her injury, mindful of everything except the small sounds she made against his ear and the way her body picked up the pace and deepened the connection.

She arched into him, breath shuddering. He groaned softly against her neck. Their movements quickened, not rushed, just inevitable building heat, building gravity.

The sheets tangled around their legs. The mattress creaked in soft, steady intervals. Their hands found each other, fingers threading.

Her breath broke unevenly, his followed. Their bodies tightened, tensed and unraveled.

The moment hit them both like a tide pulling them under, warm, consuming, trembling breath and soft gasps and the heat of two people clinging to something real in a place built for terror.

Autumn’s hand clenched against his back. Blake’s forehead dropped against her shoulder, breath coming in hard, unsteady waves and then it was over. Not in shame. Not in regret.

Just in breathless stillness and the faint echo of something tender lingering in the dim light.

The room smelled faintly of sweat and skin and warm sheets. The lamp cast soft gold across their tangled bodies.

Blake’s heartbeat was a drum in his throat. Autumn’s pulse raced beneath her skin. Their breaths slowed.

Chapter Text

The room was still vibrating with the echoes of what they’d just done.

Blake lay half-tangled in the sheets, chest rising and falling too fast, skin still flushed with heat. Autumn was beside him, slightly propped on her uninjured side, hair spread over the pillow like spilled ink. Their limbs were still touching in the tired, accidental way of people who hadn’t yet shifted apart.

It wasn’t romantic. It was exhaustion and adrenaline and need. Two drowning people grabbing onto the same driftwood plank.

Neither of them could breathe quite normally yet. For a long moment, there was no sound but their ragged breaths and the steady hum of the motel’s ancient air vents.

Blake’s mind felt loose, ungrounded, like it was floating a few inches outside of his skull. His nerves were scrambled by the panic he’d had hours earlier, the fight with Floyd, the nightmares crowding his brain, and then the sudden, overwhelming intimacy that had wiped everything clean for a short while.

He was still inside that dissociative cloud. Still half somewhere else, still half someone else.

His eyes drifted closed without him meaning to. His chest heaved in a heavy, exhausted exhale and then he whispered, achingly soft, “I love you, Farah.”

The words slipped out of him before he knew he’d spoken them. Before he heard them, before he felt the cold horror chase after them.

The silence afterward hit like a punch. Autumn froze. Blake did too. His eyes snapped open.

He looked at the ceiling. Then at Autumn. Then away from her completely. His whole body went still, every muscle tightening in a single, awful line of panic.

“Oh God Autumn…” His voice cracked violently. “I didn’t… I didn’t mean…Autumn, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I…I wasn’t thinking, I didn’t-”

His hands flew up to cover his face. He rolled onto his back, shaking his head over and over as if he could rewind time. “Fuck, I didn’t mean to say that. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” His voice broke on the last word.

Autumn sat up slowly, each movement gentle, controlled. Her good hand reached out, not touching him yet, just resting near his arm.

“It’s okay,” she said softly.

He shook his head harder, fingers digging into his hair. “It’s not, I didn’t… I’m such an idiot, I wasn’t thinking-”

“Blake,” Her voice was soft but firm.

He didn’t lift his head. She moved closer. Her hand touched his forearm lightly.

“Blake,” she repeated. “It’s okay.”

He let his hands fall away from his face just enough to look at her. His eyes were red again, more exhausted than when the night began. “I didn’t mean it, I swear I didn’t, I’m not… I wasn’t saying that to you.”

“I know,” she said.

His breath stuttered. “I…I’m sorry, Autumn, I’m so sorry. That was, I shouldn’t have-”

“Stop apologizing.”

He went silent, chest trembling.

Autumn exhaled gently. “You’re exhausted, you’ve been running on fear and adrenaline for almost two days straight. What you said wasn’t… intentional. It was a trauma response.”

Blake stared at her, stunned by the softness in her voice.

Autumn tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear with her good hand. “Farah was your girlfriend.”

The name left her mouth with unusual care.

Blake flinched.

“I can’t imagine how hard it must’ve been,” Autumn said. “To see her die, to live through something like that.”

Blake made a small, wounded sound, something halfway between a gasp and a sob. His shoulders curled inward as he dragged both hands over his face again, hiding behind them.

“I don’t-” His breath hitched. “I don’t talk about her, not like that, I didn’t mean to-”

“I know,” Autumn said. “That’s why it slipped out.”

Her tone was warm, gentle, not pitying, understanding and somehow…somehow, that hurt worse.

Blake felt everything inside him splinter. His chest collapsed inward. Tears hit the sheets before he could stop them. He ruined everything, he made it weird, he dragged his dead girlfriend into the one safe moment he’d had in years.

“Oh god,” he whispered. “I’m such a mess.”

“No,” Autumn said quietly. “You’re grieving.”

He choked out a breath that was almost laughter, but broken. “I thought I wasn’t anymore.”

“That’s not how grieving works.”

He swallowed, staring at her with eyes that felt too wide, too exposed. “I didn’t mean to say her name.”

“I know,” she repeated gently.

He dragged a shaky hand down his face. “You must think I’m… I don’t know, using you, confused or stuck in the past or-”

“Blake.” Autumn shifted closer and set her palm on his shoulder, her thumb brushing lightly over the tense line of muscle, “I don’t think anything like that.”

His voice cracked again. “You should.”

“No,” she said, with a certainty that startled him. “I shouldn’t.”

Her calmness broke something in him.

The tears came harder, heavy and silent and humiliating, and he tried to turn his head away so she wouldn’t see, but she caught his jaw gently and guided him back toward her.

“Blake,” she said, “it really is okay.”

“It’s not,” he whispered. “I shouldn’t have, I didn’t…she’s dead.”

“I know.”

“I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You didn’t.”

He stared at her, breath quivering.

Autumn shifted slightly so she could wrap an arm around him, her good arm and pulled him toward her chest.

He resisted for half a second, then broke. He leaned into her, face pressed into her shoulder, his body shaking with exhausted, frightened sobs he hadn’t been able to release since the moment he saw Crow’s carved smile.

Autumn held him tightly, fingers combing through his hair in slow strokes. Her voice was low, soft, the kind that soothed in ways words never fully could.

“Shh,” she murmured. “It’s okay.”

He pressed his forehead harder against her skin, gripping her waist like someone clinging to the only solid thing in a collapsing room.

“I didn’t mean it,” he whispered again. “Autumn, I didn’t…please don’t think-”

She stroked her fingers through his hair. “I don’t think anything bad, I promise.”

He shook his head, breath shuddering. “I’m so tired.”

“I know.”

The wound in her shoulder pulled painfully as she held him, but she didn’t care. Blake was shaking, not from cold, not from desire, but from the kind of emotional exhaustion so deep it hollowed out a person from the inside out.

He needed someone to hold him. Not judge him, not analyze him, not interrogate him. Just hold him.

Autumn tightened her arm around him.

“You’re safe,” she whispered.

He squeezed his eyes shut. “I’m not.”

“You’re safer than you were a few hours ago,” she said, “And you’re not alone.”

He let out a small, broken sob at that, a sound she felt rather than heard, something tight curling in her chest.

After several minutes, he eased enough for his breathing to slow. He pulled back slightly, brushing at his eyes with the heel of his hand.

“I didn’t mean to call you-” His voice cracked again.

Autumn put her hand gently over his.

“Blake,” she said softly. “It was a mistake, a slip, It’s okay, I’m not hurt.”

He stared at her, confused. “Why not?”

“Because you weren’t talking to me,” she said honestly. “You were talking to someone you loved, someone you lost.”

He trembled. “I didn’t mean it.”

“I know,” she whispered. “You weren’t in control of that moment.”

Blake looked down at his hands, still trembling faintly in his lap. “I don’t want you to think I’m trying to replace her or… use you to fill something.”

“I don’t,” she said.

Her voice held no resentment, no disappointment, just truth.

Blake shook his head. “I feel awful.”

“I know” and somehow, she didn’t say you should. She didn’t say that was awful. She didn’t say that hurt me.

She said, “I know.”

Blake’s breath caught entirely, like her gentleness was the thing that finally snapped whatever thin thread he’d been holding onto.

Tears slid down again.

She leaned forward, pulling him into another quiet hug, careful of her shoulder, folding her body around his in a protective curve.

He buried his face against her skin and cried again, softer this time but deeper, the kind of crying that drained the last remaining dregs of adrenaline from his body.

Autumn held him through it all. No romance. No tension. No expectation. Just presence.

Eventually, his sobs quieted, though his breathing remained uneven. He leaned against her with the full weight of his exhaustion, and she supported it, her hand running slow, steady lines down his back.

Their earlier heat had dissolved fully into something gentler, sadder, deeper in a different way.

He wasn’t a lover now. He was a wounded animal seeking shelter and she gave it without hesitation.

After several long, quiet minutes, Blake whispered, “Are we okay?”

“Yes,” Autumn said. “We’re okay.”

“This doesn’t… ruin anything?”

“It doesn’t,” she said. “It just tells me you were hurting more than you realized.”

He swallowed hard. “I didn’t want to make you feel like…”

“Blake,” she murmured, “sleep with me wasn’t a promise. It wasn’t the start of anything. It was two scared people needing comfort, I knew that going in.”

He blinked hard. “So we’re still…?”

“Friends,” Autumn finished warmly, simply, without hesitation.

Blake let out a breath so shaky it nearly folded him forward.

Autumn touched his cheek, thumb brushing away a last lingering tear. “It’s okay,” she said, “Really.”

He nodded, small and tight, trying to breathe past the ache.

Autumn shifted and lay down carefully on her uninjured side. She didn’t ask him to join her, didn’t pat the space next to her, didn’t make it weird but Blake, exhausted and hollowed and still trembling faintly, lay down beside her on his own, their shoulders nearly touching.

Not lovers. Not romantic. Not even close. Just two people in the same storm.

As Blake’s eyes drifted shut, finally, Autumn watched him with an expression that wasn’t judgment or longing. Just understanding, quiet, deep and steady.

She wasn’t his Farah, she wasn’t trying to be, she wasn’t hurt by the mistake, she wasn’t angry.

She was simply here and as Blake fell into an exhausted sleep beside her, she whispered softly, almost inaudible:

“You deserve peace, Blake.”

He didn’t hear her but maybe, somewhere beneath the crushing weight of everything he carried, a small piece of him finally believed it.

Chapter Text

By morning, the Cold River Motel felt like a pressure cooker left on high too long, metal groaning under the weight of heat and fear. The storm had soaked the dirt outside into patches of sticky mud, and the clouds still hovered low and angry, ready to break again.

Inside the lounge, the atmosphere snapped before Autumn even stepped through the doorway.

“BACK UP!” Adrianna screamed.

Autumn froze in the entrance.

Adrianna stood in the middle of the room, hair wild, mascara smeared, chest heaving. A long kitchen knife shook violently in her hands as she swung it toward every face around her.

Shirley shrieked and pressed herself flat against Floyd’s side. Paige backed up so fast she slammed into the table. Andy hovered uncertainly near the wall, torn between wanting to help and wanting to run.

Blake looked frozen in place, eyes wide and distant, someone who had seen too many knives in too many rooms with too many dead bodies.

Adrianna was sobbing, breath hitching between terrified gasps. “Don’t come near me! DON’T COME NEAR ME! I’m not dying next!”

Autumn stepped farther into the room, but slowly. “Adrianna-”

“NO!” Adrianna shrieked, pointing the knife toward her. “Don’t… don’t say my name like that! Don’t pretend you’re all calm when everyone here is insane!”

She swung the blade toward Floyd next. “You don’t even look at me!”

Floyd scoffed, hands raised. “You’re the one waving a knife like a lunatic.”

“Floyd,” Autumn warned softly, but it barely left her mouth.

Adrianna’s sob turned desperate. “I HEARD someone outside my door last night. TWICE. I’m not stupid, I know someone’s trying to kill us one by one!”

No one argued because fear made even wild claims feel possible here.

“Adrianna, we’re not your enemies,” Andy said gently.

“Yes you are!” Adrianna screamed. “Who’s next? Who’s next?! I’m not letting any of you touch me!”

Her voice cracked in the last word, a childlike tremor of pure terror.

Autumn lifted both hands, palms open. “Okay, okay, no one’s touching you.”

Adrianna shook her head so violently her hair whipped around her face. “Liar. LIAR! You’re all looking at me like I’m crazy.”

Floyd jabbed a finger at her. “Because you ARE look at you!”

Adrianna slashed the knife toward him and he stumbled back.

Paige whimpered behind her hands.

Autumn’s stomach tightened, this was spiraling too fast.

“Everybody stop talking,” Blake said shakily, but no one heard him.

Floyd stepped forward, Adrianna screamed. Shirley begged Floyd to “do something.” Andy looked wildly between them and Paige sobbed.

Autumn stepped slightly forward, not threatening, but single-minded.

“Adrianna,” she said softly. “You’re scared, I get it.”

“DON’T SAY THAT!” Adrianna cried. “I’m not scared, I’M SMART. I know how these stories go. I know what killers do! I’m not being picked off like some idiot!”

“I’m not calling you an idiot,” Autumn replied calmly. “I’m saying you’re overwhelmed.”

Adrianna’s breath came faster. “I can’t put it down. If I put the knife down, I’m done. I KNOW I am.”

No one in the room knew how to respond.

Floyd exchanged a look with Shirley. Then with Andy. Then with Blake.

Finally, Floyd said what several of them had been thinking, “She needs to be locked somewhere safe until she can calm the hell down.”

Adrianna’s face crumpled. “NO! Don’t–don’t lock me up!”

“We have to,” Floyd insisted. “Before she stabs someone.”

“She’s not going to stab anyone,” Autumn said sharply but it came out weaker than she liked. Fear and adrenaline made her voice shake.

Floyd took advantage of the hesitation, he lunged.

Adrianna screamed… high, raw, animalistic and slashed toward him. Andy grabbed her wrist instinctively, Paige shrieked, Blake scrambled back, hitting the edge of a table.

It happened too fast. In seconds, Andy and Floyd wrestled the knife from her grip while she sobbed and screamed and begged.

“DON’T LOCK ME UP! PLEASE…PLEASE DON’T!”

Shirley looked suprisingly calm suddenly, “Please, just do it, tie her or something, she’s scaring me!”

“We’re not tying anyone,” Andy said, breathing hard. “Just… just move her outside, somewhere secure.”

“The shed,” Floyd said immediately.

Paige squeaked, “No, wait, that’s-”

“We don’t have a jail,” Floyd snapped. “It’s all we’ve got.”

Autumn stepped forward. “We don’t have to do this. She just needs time, she needs space-” but her voice was lost in the chaos.

No one was listening anymore.

Blake whispered hoarsely, “This is wrong,” but he didn’t move to stop it.

He couldn’t, not with Adrianna still fighting, still kicking, still sobbing like she believed they were about to kill her.

“I’m not dying! I’m not dying!” she wailed as Floyd and Andy dragged her outside, her heels scraping the floor.

Autumn followed, protesting again but softer now, overwhelmed by the force of everyone else shouting.

“Guys just hold on,” she said weakly. “She’s not the killer, this is just panic” but Floyd wasn’t hearing anything except his own fear.

They reached the shed at the far side of the motel. Wind whipped around them and Adrianna fought harder.

“PLEASE!” Adrianna sobbed. “AUTUMN! AUTUMN DO SOMETHING!”

Autumn flinched.

“Just…just be gentle,” she said, uselessly. Her voice felt like cotton in her throat, “Don’t hurt her.”

“We’re not hurting her,” Floyd snapped. “We’re protecting her from herself.”

Shirley added, “And us from her!”

Autumn pressed her lips together, weak frustration, not the fierce fight she’d shown before. She was alone in her stance, and the force of the group drowned her out.

The shed door opened with a rusty groan.

Adrianna clung to the frame until her knuckles went white. “Please don’t lock me in the dark,” she begged. “Please! Please I’ll do anything just don’t lock me in the dark again.”

“Again?” Paige whispered, horrified but before anyone could ask, Floyd yanked her inside. Andy helped, though guilt was written all over his face.

The door slammed shut. Adrianna’s cries hit the wooden walls like a physical force.

“LET ME OUT! PLEASE! PLEASE NO! AUTUMN! AUTUMN PLEASE!”

Autumn stared at the door, her heart sinking, her stomach hollow. She wanted to fight more, she wanted to scream, she wanted to stop this but she was one person against an entire terrified crowd, and fear was a louder voice than she was.

She could only manage a small, shaky, “She’s not dangerous.”

Shirley looked at her, “I’m sorry, dear, but she is.”

Floyd snapped the padlock shut with shaking hands. “No one goes in, no one touches that door. She stays until we figure out who the killer is.”

Autumn flinched at the metallic clink of the lock.

Paige whispered, voice trembling, “We’ll check on her later, right?”

“Later,” Andy promised, though he didn’t sound sure.

They all filed back inside.

Autumn lingered.

She stared at the shed, at the thin wooden boards, at the rusted hinges, at the lock that wouldn’t last against a determined attacker.

Adrianna’s sobbing quieted into miserable hiccups.

Autumn turned away and followed the others but the sick, heavy feeling didn’t leave her chest.

Inside, the motel felt wrong.

Paige sat curled in a chair, crying silently. Andy paced. Blake sat on the couch with his hands over his face. Floyd and Shirley argued in hushed tones. Kawayan scribbled nonsense shapes on the arm of the sofa.

Autumn stood near the lobby window for a long time, staring out at the shed.

She thought about the knife in Adrianna’s hands. The wildness in her eyes. The way she’d begged for help.

Hours passed. The storm crept back in. The sky shifted darker. The motel’s flickering lights cast eerie shadows across the walls.

Autumn went to her room but only to sit on the edge of the bed and wait. She didn’t sleep, she didn’t lay down, she didn’t tell anyone where she was going.

She didn’t tell Blake because she knew he’d try to stop her. He’d insist on following and if something happened to him because she made a reckless choice, she would never forgive herself.

So when midnight settled in and the storm quieted to a soft drizzle, Autumn stood, slipped on her boots, grabbed her coat, and cracked her door silently.

The hallway was still.

Everyone was asleep or pretending to be.

Her shoulder burned beneath the bandage as she moved, but she ignored it. She slipped into the lobby, bypassed the darkened front desk, and stepped outside.

The wind hit Autumn the second she stepped out of the motel’s back door, sharp, cold, filled with the wet-dirt smell of a storm that hadn’t fully passed. The neon sign buzzed its uneasy red glow over the lot, flickering with every gust. Her boots sank slightly into the mud as she crossed the open stretch of ground.

The shed waited in the darkness, hunched and warped, a lonely black shape at the edge of the property.

Autumn’s breath made a thin cloud in the cold air. Her shoulder throbbed. Her stomach tightened with each step but she kept moving.

Adrianna had been locked inside for hours, longer than anyone deserved and Autumn had replayed the scene of her being dragged there over and over, a knot of guilt pulling tight in the center of her chest.

When she reached the shed, she stayed low, circling toward the back where she remembered a loose plank from earlier. She’d noticed it when they’d first dragged Adrianna in had filed it away instinctively.

Just in case.

She knelt in the mud and pushed her fingers beneath the plank’s bottom edge. It groaned as she pried upward, the nails creaking, the damp wood splintering under her grip. Her injured shoulder twinged sharply, she bit down hard on a breath.

She applied more pressure. The board peeled away with a crack, leaving a dark gap large enough for someone to crawl through.

Inside, Adrianna gasped, scrambling backward. “Who…who’s there? Please don’t-”

“Shh,” Autumn whispered through the opening, “It’s me.”

A beat.

Then a choked sob. “Autumn?”

“Yeah, come on, we don’t have much time.”

Autumn reached through and hooked her hand under Adrianna’s wrist. Adrianna squeezed her hand with frantic intensity, crawling through the gap awkwardly. Her knees scraped and her breath came in ragged little bursts.

When her torso cleared the hole, Autumn grabbed her under the arms and pulled her fully out. Adrianna collapsed onto her knees in the mud, trembling violently.

“You came,” she whispered, stunned.

“Of course I did.”

Autumn didn’t waste time, she brushed mud off Adrianna’s arms and whispered, “We have to move.”

Adrianna nodded, tears streaking through the grime on her cheeks, “Okay. Okay.”

They crouched and slipped around the side of the shed, keeping close to the wall, the shadows swallowing them. The motel windows were dark, everyone asleep, or pretending to be.

Autumn peeked around the shed’s corner before signaling Adrianna to follow but just as they started across the lot…

Footsteps.

Fast. Heavy. Purposeful.

Autumn grabbed Adrianna and yanked her sharply back behind the building’s edge, pressing her into the siding, holding her tight.

A figure entered the clearing. They were tall, broad, and wearing the Baphomet mask.

The curved horns caught the faint neon light. The hollow black eyes stared straight ahead. A long knife hung from the figure’s gloved hand.

Adrianna slapped her own hand over her mouth to smother a scream, shaking so hard Autumn had to steady her.

Autumn pressed a finger to her lips. Quiet.

The Baphomet figure moved toward the shed, each step squelching through mud. Their breathing was audible, heavy and determined. They melted into the shadows of the open door Autumn had cracked earlier.

She and Adrianna huddled in the dark, listening.

A beat, then another, then… CRASH.

The shed door was kicked fully open from the outside, hard, slamming into the wall with a violent bang.

The figure rushed in.

Autumn’s heart stopped. If she’d come even three minutes later, Adrianna would’ve been cornered inside.

Adrianna’s breathing hitched into a stuttering panic, tears streaming silently down her face. Autumn clasped her hand hard, steadying her.

The figure’s silhouette shifted inside the shed, sweeping the interior. They were searching, not cautiously, not curiously.

Hunting.

Autumn swallowed her bile.

They expected to find Adrianna.

She motioned to Adrianna again, jaw tight… Move.

They kept low, skirting the building’s wall until they reached the side of the motel where the neon light faded into deep shadow. Adrianna stumbled twice, Autumn held her upright each time, whispering, “Almost there.”

At the far end of the building, Autumn crouched under her window. She slipped her fingers under the frame. It lifted silently, perfect.

“Climb in,” Autumn whispered.

Adrianna climbed awkwardly, slipping once on the sill. Autumn braced her by the waist, ignoring the sharp pull in her shoulder, and guided her through. Adrianna scrambled inside, collapsed against the carpeted floor.

Autumn swung her leg over and followed, dropping down silently. She shut the window, pulled the curtains and waited.

No footsteps approached. No shadow passed her door. No horned silhouette returned.

She released a slow, shaky breath.

Adrianna kneeled on the floor, arms wrapped around herself, rocking slightly. “He was coming for me,” she whispered. “He was coming, he was going to…God…he was going to-”

Her breath stuttered sharply, too quick and too shallow.

“Adrianna,” Autumn said softly, kneeling beside her. “Look at me.”

Adrianna couldn’t. Her hands trembled violently. Her breath came in fast little gasps, as if the air itself was clawing at her throat. Panic attack…severe.

Autumn reached out, placing both hands lightly on Adrianna’s shoulders. “Hey, you’re here, you’re alive, look at me.”

Adrianna dragged her gaze up, wet, panicked, and unfocused.

“Good,” Autumn murmured. “Now breathe with me. In. Two… three… four.”

Adrianna tried, but the breath caught halfway.

Shake. Stutter. Collapse.

“Hey,” Autumn said again, voice low and warm. “I’m right here.”

She slid closer, pulled Adrianna’s trembling hands gently into her own, and placed her forehead against Adrianna’s.

The contact froze Adrianna long enough to pull breath into her lungs.

“There you go,” Autumn whispered. “You’re doing it.”

Adrianna broke. Not loudly, quietly and heartbreakingly.

Her tears hit Autumn’s skin. Her breathing hitched. Her whole body shook like she might come apart. "He’s going to kill me. I don’t…Autumn, I can’t… I can’t do it again-”

“You won’t,” Autumn said firmly. “I’m not letting that happen.”

“You can’t promise-”

“I just did.”

Adrianna fully broke down now, she began talking quickly. About her childhood, about the things that had happened to her, the horrible things. Autumn listened silently, the pieces clicking in her mind, this is the reason Adrianna acted like she did. The reason she was obsessed with danger, with killers, the reason she oversexualized everything.

Adrianna’s breath cracked. “You’re the only one who…who even tried-”

Autumn exhaled softly. “Come on, we need to move you somewhere safer.”

Adrianna let Autumn help her to her feet, leaning against her more than walking.

Autumn led her down the hallway, quiet and quick. The motel felt too empty, shadows clinging to corners, the wind moaning faintly against the windows.

She stopped in front of the door. Ruby and Portia’s room. No one else would step foot inside unless they had to.

Autumn unlocked the door quietly and guided Adrianna in. The room was cold, the air smelled faintly of old perfume and the metallic tint of blood long since dried.

Adrianna’s throat tightened, “Here?”

“No one will look for you in this room,” Autumn said simply. “Everyone is terrified of it.”

The stripped bedframe sat where Portia had died. Suitcases were still half-unpacked. The lamp was still unplugged from when the power had flickered earlier during the struggle. It was eerie but it was safe.

Autumn closed the door behind them and locked it.

Adrianna hugged herself tightly. “I can’t Autumn, I can’t do this alone, I’m…please-”

“I know,” Autumn said, stepping closer. “But you won’t be alone. I’ll be here whenever I can and no one knows you’re here. That’s your advantage.”

Adrianna sniffed, eyes red. “What if he finds me?”

“He won’t.”

“What if he comes in this room?”

Autumn answered honestly, “He won’t willingly. This room scares everyone.”

Adrianna shuddered. “What if he doesn’t know that?”

“Then you’ll be ready.” Autumn reached into her coat and produced a small knife, sharp and easy to grip. She pressed it into Adrianna’s hand. “You keep this, don’t drop it.”

Adrianna stared at it. “Another knife?”

“Yes.”

“You trust me with this?”

“I trust you to want to stay alive.”

Adrianna’s lip trembled.

Autumn stepped forward again.

Their foreheads touched, soft, grounding, and warm.

“You are going to get out alive,” Autumn said quietly. “I promise.”

Adrianna closed her eyes, breath shuddering. “Please don’t forget me.”

“I won’t.”

Autumn pulled back just enough to hold her by the shoulders. “Listen to me carefully.”

Adrianna swallowed hard. “Okay.”

“You stay in this room, you don’t leave. Not for food, not for water, not for anything.”

Adrianna nodded.

“You don’t open the door if you hear someone call your name.”

“Not even you?”

Autumn hesitated. “If it’s me, I’ll knock three times. Then I’ll say something only you would know.”

“Like what?”

Autumn thought. Then, “Like how you got out of the shed.”

Adrianna let out a tiny, unsteady laugh. “Okay.”

“Good.” Autumn adjusted the blanket on the stripped bed, making a makeshift place for Adrianna to sit. “Stay hidden, stay quiet, I’ll come back as soon as it’s safe.”

Adrianna’s eyes welled. “Autumn… thank you.”

“You never should’ve been put in that shed,” Autumn said softly. “Now hide.”

Autumn slipped out, closing the door as quietly as she could.

The lock clicked into place. She waited until she was sure Adrianna secured it, then turned and walked back down the hallway toward her room.

Her steps were silent, her heart loud and her shoulder aching.

When she reached her room, she slipped inside, closed the door behind her, and exhaled, quiet and long.

Chapter Text

Morning arrived without sunshine.

Just a dull, gray light pushing half-heartedly through the thin motel curtains, turning the walls the color of old newspaper. The storm had quieted but hadn’t really gone, the clouds still sagged low and heavy, and the dirt outside had become a field of uneven mud and shallow puddles that reflected the neon sign in fractured red smears.

Autumn hadn’t slept much. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw the Baphomet mask framed in the shed doorway; every time she tried to slow her breathing, she heard Adrianna’s choked whispers, the way her hand had clutched the knife Autumn had given her.

She lay awake until the light shifted, then forced herself to sit up, pull on her sweater, check the bandage on her shoulder, and step into the hallway.

The motel felt more like a tomb than ever.

By the time she reached the lounge, most of the group had gathered: Blake by the far wall, hands shoved into his pockets; Andy hunched over one of the tables, elbows on his knees; Kawayan curled up in a chair, staring at the patterned carpet as if it might rearrange into answers; Floyd standing by the coffee machine like a guard; Shirley hovering near him, fingers tangled in her rosary; Paige perched on the arm of a couch, arms wrapped around her torso, curls frizzed from the humidity.

No one was really talking. There were noises murmurs, the clink of a mug, the distant creak of the building settling but no real conversation.

Floyd broke the silence.

“All right,” he said, clearing his throat. “We… need to check on Adrianna.”

Shirley nodded quickly, eyes wide. “Yes. We can’t just leave her out there. Poor thing… I hope she’s calmed down.”

Paige winced, her nose scrunching. “She was really scared,” she said softly. “She didn’t mean to… pull a knife on everyone. I don’t think.”

Blake huffed, exhausted. “She definitely meant it. She just didn’t mean to be as out of control as she was.”

“She was terrified,” Autumn said. “That doesn’t excuse everything, but… it explains some of it.”

Kawayan’s voice drifted from the chair. “Fear makes people do things that don’t look like them.”

Shirley crossed herself. “Let’s just pray she’s okay, hmm?”

No one looked particularly convinced. But they nodded anyway.

Floyd straightened, squaring his shoulders. “Let’s go,” he said. “All of us. We’re not splitting up for this.”

They shuffled out together.

The air outside slapped them with cold dampness. The neon sign flickered above, buzzing faintly. The lot was soggy, their shoes sinking a little with each step. The woods beyond the motel were a wall of gray-brown trunks and dripping branches, blurred at the edges by lingering fog.

The shed loomed at the far end of the property, squat and dark.

Autumn felt her pulse climb as they approached. She already knew what they were going to find or rather, what they weren’t but she still had to act surprised.

Floyd stopped first, frowning.

The padlock that had been secure the night before now dangled open from the latch, hanging uselessly like a broken tooth.

“Wait,” Andy said. “We locked that.”

“We all watched you lock it,” Blake said.

Shirley’s hand flew to her mouth. “Oh no…”

Floyd grabbed the handle and pushed the door open.

The shed yawned empty.

The air inside smelled of damp wood and old gasoline. A few scuffed footprints marked the floorboards, overlapping so many times they were useless. A coil of rope lay abandoned in one corner, and someone’s discarded tarp sagged off a shelf like a dead thing but Adrianna wasn’t there.

Paige took a step forward, her eyes wide. “She’s… gone?”

Kawayan stood in the doorway, arms folded tightly. “Of course she’s gone.”

Shirley whispered, “Maybe she slipped out in the night. Maybe she… she ran away from us. Poor thing.”

“Ran where?” Blake demanded. “It’s miles to the next house. The roads are still trashed. There’s a murderer stalking this property.”

“Maybe she didn’t think of that,” Shirley said helplessly.

“She did,” Autumn said quietly, almost to herself. “She thought of… everything.”

Floyd walked fully inside, scanning the corners like he expected Adrianna to materialize out of the shadows. “No signs of a struggle,” he muttered. “Door’s not broken. Lock’s not busted. Someone opened this.”

Andy rubbed the back of his neck. “It could’ve been her? Maybe she messed with the lock and got it to slip.”

“Or maybe,” Shirley said, voice shaking, “one of us opened it.”

The words hung in the air.

No one wanted to be the first to answer.

Finally Blake said, “We’re not doing this again. Not right now.”

“We can’t just ignore it,” Floyd snapped. “She was locked in, now she’s not and there’s a killer out there or in here.”

Paige’s voice came out soft and shaky. “We should… we should find her. Right? She’s probably terrified and freezing. She barely had anything on when we dragged her out here.”

Autumn watched her.

Paige’s eyes glistened, lower lip trembling just enough. It looked genuine. It probably was on some level. Paige had survived this long on vulnerability. She knew how to wield it, even when she wasn’t trying.

“We’ll search,” Andy said. “We have to.”

Floyd nodded. “Check every inch of the grounds.”

Shirley shivered. “All of us? Together?”

“Yes,” Floyd said. “Together.”

They spent the day searching.

The fog never fully lifted. It clung to the edges of the trees, the dips in the land, the corners where the motel met the foundation. It made everything seem farther away and closer at the same time.

They combed through the small patch of trees near the road, shoes squelching in the soaked undergrowth. They traced the muddy edge of the gravel turn-in, eyes scanning for footprints, scraps of clothing, anything. They checked behind the dumpsters, around the generator shed, under the back staircase.

Nothing.

Floyd cursed under his breath more than once. Shirley muttered prayers into her hand. Kawayan hummed something tuneless, a nervous tick. Andy checked his watch even though it didn’t matter, time had stopped meaning anything here.

Blake moved through it all like a man watching an old nightmare replay with new actors. Sometimes Autumn caught him scanning the shadows like he expected a frat hallway to appear instead of pine trees and rotting leaves.

Paige drifted between people, never fully alone, her arms folded over her chest for warmth. She made little sympathetic noises when Shirley complained. She nodded earnestly when Floyd talked about “being vigilant.” She frowned in concern whenever Blake or Andy snapped at someone.

On the surface, she looked exactly how she always had: soft, anxious, sweet.

Only when she was near Autumn did the mask slip.

Late in the afternoon, as the sky slid from gray to a darker, heavier shade, they trailed back to the lounge in small clusters.

Floyd and Shirley sat at one table, hunched over, talking in low voices. Andy had claimed a corner of the room and was cleaning his glasses he didn’t wear, just holding the frames in his hands. Kawayan sat beside him, doodling invisible shapes into the wood grain with one finger.

Blake took his usual spot near the wall, staring out the fogged window, jaw clenched.

Autumn sat on the long bench by the opposite window, trying to knead the ache from her shoulder through the fabric of her sweater.

A moment later, Paige slid down onto the bench beside her.

“I’m freezing,” Paige said lightly, blowing warm air into her hands. “And my toes are prunes.”

Autumn huffed a small breath. “You should change your socks.”

“I already did. Twice.” Paige hugged her knees to her chest. “Third pair’s officially damp, too. It’s like this place is cursed or something.”

Autumn didn’t respond to that.

For a while, they just sat there, staring out at the gray yard.

Then Paige exhaled slowly. “Do you think she’s alive?”

Autumn glanced at her. “Adrianna?”

Paige nodded, curls bobbing.

“I don’t know,” Autumn said honestly.

Paige’s eyes were big and shiny in the dim light. “She was a mess, but… I don’t want her to die. I really don’t.”

Autumn believed her. At least partly.

“She’s smart,” Autumn said. “She knows how this works, the psychology, the patterns. If anyone could find a way to survive out there, it might be her.”

Paige chewed lightly on her thumbnail. “She was… intense but she didn’t deserve to get locked up like that. I should’ve said something.”

Autumn thought of the way Paige had gone quiet and hugged herself while they’d dragged Adrianna across the parking lot. “You were scared.”

“Still,” Paige said. “I could’ve done more.”

Autumn softened. “Most people don’t know what to do when someone’s that scared. They just react.”

Paige managed a little smile. “You didn’t.”

She glanced sideways at Autumn. “You always seem so calm. Even when you’re not. It’s kind of annoying, actually.”

Autumn huffed a quiet laugh. “Sorry?”

“I mean it as a compliment,” Paige said. “You make people feel safe. Even when everything is terrible.”

Autumn didn’t know what to say to that.

So she didn’t say anything.

They watched the fog for another stretch of silence.

Then Paige’s voice dropped lower, losing some of its gentle roundness. “Can I tell you something? Like… off the record? No judgment?”

“Sure,” Autumn said.

Paige drew in a breath, then let it out in a rush. “I keep thinking about the reboot.”

Autumn frowned. “The Cold River movies?”

“Yeah.” Paige’s mouth twisted. “They’re recasting Caitlyn. You probably heard or not. Whatever. It’s not like it’s front-page news or anything.”

Autumn stayed quiet, listening.

“They called me last year,” Paige continued, “and said they wanted to ‘take Caitlyn in a new direction.’ Which is producer-speak for ‘We want someone younger.’”

She picked at a frayed thread on her knee. “Never mind that Caitlyn Ridgeley was in her thirties when she died. Never mind that I am closer to her real age now than I was when I started playing her. They want some twenty-two-year-old with a big Instagram following who can scream pretty.”

There was real hurt in her voice now. Less gloss. Less innocence.

Autumn watched her carefully.

Paige’s smile went tight. “It’s like… I gave them my face for that role. My body. My time. I learned everything I could about Caitlyn. I slept in my trailer with the crime scene photos taped above my bed like some creep.” She laughed once, sharp. “And now? They’re tossing me out like last season’s wardrobe.”

“That’s not fair,” Autumn said quietly.

“It’s not,” Paige agreed. “But it’s normal.”

She leaned her head back, staring at the ceiling. “So when all this started happening coming back here, the storm, the… bodies… I kept thinking, ‘Of course.’ Of course this would happen when I’m already being replaced. Of course my big return to the Cold River Motel would be real blood instead of fake.”

Autumn’s pulse ticked faster. “Paige…”

“And then I thought,” Paige kept going, “if we survive this, if we actually make it out, this is my story. Not the producers’. Not some casting director’s. Mine. I was here. I lived it.” Her eyes lit up with something almost feverish. “They can’t replace me in a movie about this without looking insane.”

Autumn’s stomach went cold. “You’re thinking about… playing yourself.”

“Obviously,” Paige said. “Who else could do it?” She smiled not sweetly now, but sharply. “Actresses love true crime. Fans love true crime. I’m literally both.”

Autumn stared at her. “People have died. Are dying.”

Paige held up her hands. “I know. I know. I’m not saying that’s good. I’m not happy about it.” She looked down at her hands. “I’ve cried. I’ve thrown up. I’m scared out of my mind.”

Her voice dropped. “But if I have to live through this anyway, if I have to watch people die again, then I want something to come out of it. Something that means I don’t vanish into nothing when the studio moves on.”

Something in Autumn’s chest pinched.

“You’re not nothing,” she said.

Paige gave her a look that was oddly old for her face. “In this business? If you’re not on screen, you might as well be.”

They sat in silence for a moment.

“You think that makes me a bad person,” Paige said finally.

“I think it makes you scared,” Autumn replied.

“It makes me… practical,” Paige insisted, but the word shook. “I don’t want to be a footnote. ‘Oh yeah, that actress from the old Cold River movies. Didn’t she, like, die in a motel or something?’” She shuddered. “No thanks.”

Her eyes met Autumn’s, and for a brief moment, there was something like pleading there. “If we get out, they’re going to make something. A movie, a series, at least a documentary. They always do. And when that happens, I want to be there. Not just as archival footage from the old films. As me.”

Autumn didn’t tell her how disturbing that sounded.

She didn’t tell her how wrong it felt to see Paige’s eyes gleam with the same intensity when she talked about survival and screen time.

She just said, “You want control.”

Paige swallowed. “Yeah. I guess I do.”

The innocence in her voice frayed a little at the edges.

Then, just as quickly, she smoothed it over, pulling her knees tighter to her chest, curling her shoulders inward, making her eyes wide again.

“I sound awful, don’t I?” she whispered.

“You sound honest,” Autumn said.

Paige’s lips wobbled. “Promise you won’t hate me?”

“I don’t hate you,” Autumn said. It was simple and true.

Relief flashed across Paige’s face, too bright and too quick.

“Okay,” she said. “Good because you’re… kind of the only person here I still feel like I can talk to without being judged besides Andy.”

Autumn wasn’t sure that was true but she let her have it.

Paige slid off the bench, smoothing her sweater. “I’m gonna go lie down for a bit. Try not to imagine camera crews while I do it.”

“Rest,” Autumn said softly.

Paige took a few steps toward the hallway, then turned back, her expression softer, almost childlike again. “Hey, Autumn?”

“Yeah?”

“If we make it out of this…” Paige hesitated, then gave a shy little smile that looked more genuine than anything she’d shown all day. “You should be in it too. The movie or whatever they end up doing. You’d be the one everyone loves.”

Autumn blinked. “I don’t think that’s-”

“I’m serious,” Paige said. “You’re the only one here who actually looks like a real person. Not a brand.”

Autumn didn’t know how to respond to that.

Paige waved it off. “Think about it or don’t. I will for you.”

And with that, she disappeared down the hallway toward her room, the shadows swallowing her up one step at a time.

Autumn sat alone on the bench for a long minute, staring at the empty space where Paige had just been.

Outside, the fog thickened.

Somewhere in the walls, the building creaked.

Autumn’s shoulder throbbed where she’d been stabbed, a reminder that survival here had nothing to do with casting.

She had a bad feeling that Paige’s story, no matter how much she wanted to own it, wouldn’t end the way she thought but for now, Autumn could only breathe, sit, and listen to the motel settle around her, unaware that, in just a few hours, Paige would be fighting for her life in the dark.

By the time night really set in, the motel felt hollowed out.

The storm hadn’t come back full force, but the wind had picked up again, worrying at the eaves, combing through the trees. Every so often, a branch scraped along the roof with a slow, dragging sound that made the building shiver.

Someone had found an old board game in the lounge and left it half-open on the coffee table, pieces scattered like they’d lost interest halfway through. The overhead lights hummed. The TV was off. Nobody wanted to listen to canned laughter or a rerun of a show where nothing bad ever happened.

People peeled off to their rooms in twos and threes.

Floyd and Shirley first, muttering about locking their door twice.
Andy and Kawayan next, exchanging a look that said neither of them wanted to be alone again.
Blake lingered a little longer in the lounge, then finally pushed himself away from the wall and headed for the hallway.

Paige was already in her room.

She’d gone there after her talk with Autumn, saying something about resting, about “recharging.” The truth was, the longer she sat in the lounge, the more the walls seemed to press in. At least in her room, she could control the lighting. Sit on her own bed. Pretend, for a moment, that she was just on some low-budget set, waiting for call time.

She closed her door behind her and flipped the lock out of habit.

Her room looked exactly as she’d left it: open suitcase on the chair, clothes half-unfolded; hoodie crumpled on the floor; bedside lamp tilted at a slight angle. The air smelled like cheap floral soap and something stale underneath it old carpet, maybe or nerves.

Paige exhaled and scrubbed her hands over her face.

“Okay,” she muttered to herself. “You’re fine. You’re okay.”

She crossed to the bed and sat down, bouncing a little on the mattress. Her phone was still useless on the nightstand, dark screen reflecting a warped, ghostly version of her face. She resisted the urge to pick it up and check for service again.

Instead, she reached for the TV remote.

Static.

She didn’t even bother changing the channel.

The silence between the bursts of white noise felt worse.

She shut it off and tossed the remote aside.

Something thudded faintly somewhere above her distant, harmless. Old building sounds. She tried not to flinch.

If this was a movie, she thought, this is where the music would shift.

She pushed off the bed and crossed to the bathroom to splash water on her face. The light flicked on with a soft click, harsh and yellow. She leaned over the sink, cupping her hands, letting the cold water run for a second before bringing it up to her skin.

Her reflection looked wrecked. There were thin, red veins in the whites of her eyes. Her lips were chapped. The bruised-looking smudges beneath her eyes made her look younger and older at the same time.

She snorted faintly. “Great. Camera-ready.”

She shut the faucet off and turned back toward the main room.

The overhead light flickered.

It was nothing at first, just a quick dimming, a little shiver. She paused anyway, staring up at the bulb as it buzzed quietly, then steadied.

“Don’t you dare,” she said to it. “I swear to God-”

The bulb held.

She shook her head and stepped back into the bedroom.

She’d made it three steps when she realized she wasn’t alone.

Her body knew before her brain did. Her muscles locked. That thin animal sense at the base of her spine screamed wrong.

There was someone standing between her and the door.

For a half-second, she thought it might be Blake or Andy. Maybe even Autumn, coming to check on her. The shape was human, familiar in the way all silhouettes were.

Then the figure shifted.

The horns caught the light.

The Baphomet mask gleamed pale in the dim room, its hollow eyes black and bottomless.

Paige’s breath stopped.

The figure didn’t move. Just stood there, knife glinting faintly in one hand.

Her voice came out very small. “This isn’t funny.”

The mask tilted, birdlike.

She couldn’t see their eyes. Couldn’t see anything past the black hollows and the smooth, featureless muzzle. Just a blank animal face, staring.

Her heart began to hammer.

“Who-” She swallowed hard. “Who is that?”

The figure took one step toward her.

Paige stumbled back.

She grabbed the first thing her hand landed on, the bedside lamp, and jerked it up between them like a shield. It felt stupidly small, stupidly light.

“Stay away from me,” she said, voice shaking. “I mean it. I’ll-I’ll hit you. I swear.”

The figure didn’t stop.

They moved with silent purpose, the knife catching another shard of light as it lowered, then rose.

Paige swung the lamp.

It crashed into the side of the mask with a hollow thud. The lampshade flew off, the bulb shattered, glass scattering in tiny starbursts across the carpet.

The figure reeled half a step to the side, then righted themselves with terrifying ease.

Paige didn’t wait to see if they were hurt.

She bolted.

Not for the door, there wasn’t time. The figure was between her and the exit, body already reorienting, knife hand snapping toward her.

She darted sideways instead, around the bed, toward the bathroom.

Something hot and sharp kissed her side as she passed—just a whisper of contact at first, then a bloom of pain.

She screamed, stumbling, hand flying to her ribcage.

Her fingers came away wet and warm.

The knife had caught her just under the ribs, slicing through fabric and skin. Not deep enough to drop her, but enough to make her vision strobe at the edges.

She threw herself the last few steps into the bathroom and slammed the door behind her.

The impact sent a jolt of pain through her side.

Her hands fumbled for the lock.

The knob rattled violently before she could find it.

“Stop-” She choked on her own breath. “Just stop-”

Her fingers finally closed around the little metal tab. She twisted it down, hearing the soft, blessed click of it sliding into place.

The rattling stopped.

For one heartbeat.

Then something hit the door.

Hard.

The wood shuddered. The plastic wastebasket toppled over, rolling into her ankle.

Paige stumbled backward, clutching her side, gasping. Hot blood soaked through her shirt, sticking fabric to her skin. She slapped her palm against the wound, trying to apply pressure like she’d seen in a hundred movies.

Pain flared up her ribs.

She tasted iron in the back of her throat.

Another slam.

The lights flickered.

“HELP!” she screamed, throat raw. “SOMEBODY! HELP ME!”

Her voice bounced off the tiles, loud inside the tiny room. It didn’t sound nearly loud enough to carry through walls, through doors, through the thick, humming fear that seemed to blanket the whole building.

She screamed again anyway, shredding her voice on the word.

The door cracked along the frame.

She looked wildly around the bathroom.

Toilet. Sink. Tiny mirror. Frosted window too small to climb through and up above… the vent.

It was smaller than the one in the bedroom, but not by much. The metal grate was screwed into place, edges rusted. It sat above the shower, near the ceiling.

Another bone-rattling thud hit the door.

The crack widened.

The lock groaned.

Paige didn’t think. She stepped onto the toilet seat, wobbling, then onto the narrow edge of the tub. Her injured side protested angrily; a wave of dizziness washed over her, nearly sending her tumbling backward.

“Don’t you dare,” she gasped to herself. “Don’t you dare fall.”

She stretched up, fingers scrabbling at the vent cover.

It didn’t move.

“Come on,” she hissed.

She dug her nails under the lower edge and yanked.

One of the screws grated, shifted, then popped free with a squeal of torn metal. The grate sagged.

The bathroom door shuddered again.

A sharp crack split down its center near the handle.

Paige grabbed the grate with both hands and pulled.

Rust gave way. The metal tore free on one side, swinging down on a single screw like a loose jaw. Dust rained down onto her face and into her hair, making her cough.

She shoved the grate aside and stared up into the darkness of the duct.

It was just big enough.

Maybe.

“Help!” she screamed again, one last time. “PLEASE! SOMEBODY-”

The next hit against the door punched a small hole through the wood. A piece splintered inward, clattering across the tile.

Paige hauled herself up.

The edge of the vent bit into her stomach, sending another scream through her teeth. She dragged herself in with shaking arms, ignoring the way her side burned, ignoring the hot slickness of blood under her shirt.

Her elbows scraped against cold metal. Her knees banged the bottom of the duct. She pulled herself in until her hips cleared the opening.

Just as her legs disappeared and her toes left the edge of the tub, the bathroom door burst open.

She heard it splinter, heard the knob bounce across the floor. She didn’t look back.

She couldn’t.

She flattened herself in the duct, heart racing so hard it felt like it might blow her chest open from the inside. The metal was freezing against her palms. Dust scratched at her throat with every quick, shallow breath.

Below, boots stepped onto broken wood.

For a moment, there was only the sound of breathing, hers and someone else’s. The second set was slower. Steadier. In no rush at all.

Paige dragged herself forward, each movement sending a spear of pain through her side. Warmth spread down her ribs, soaking her shirt, dripping onto the metal beneath her. The space was narrow; her shoulders brushed both sides. She had to turn her head sideways to keep moving.

If this had been on set, there would’ve been a padded floor. Safety rails. A stunt coordinator ready to catch her if she slipped.

Here, there was only the dark.

Something scraped against the inside of the vent behind her.

Paige’s blood went ice-cold.

They were following.

She clawed her way farther along, elbows screaming. Her breath came in ragged gasps. Each inhale tasted like dust and metal and fear.

The duct veered left, then right. She dragged herself through the bends, panting. Her injured side burned like a live coal. Every time she moved, more warmth seeped out, leaving her colder.

“Almost,” she whispered to herself. “Almost there. Just keep going.”

She had no idea where “there” was. She just knew it wasn’t behind her.

The scraping grew louder.

A thud shook the duct, reverberating through her bones. She bit down on a cry, desperate not to lose what little air she had.

They were close.

Her arms were starting to shake from exertion. Her fingers slipped against the metal, leaving smears of blood. Her vision tunneled at the edges, black creeping in.

Up ahead, she saw a faint rectangle of deeper darkness—the outline of another vent cover.

Please, she thought. Please, please, please.

She dragged herself toward it, each inch feeling like a mile.

Her fingers brushed the cool metal grille.

Behind her, something slammed into the duct again—closer now, rattling the narrow space around her. The sound of metal on metal, of weight being forced where it didn’t belong.

“Stop!” she sobbed. “Please-just stop-”

The only answer was another dull, terrible thud.

She gripped the vent cover and pulled.

It didn’t budge.

Of course it didn’t. The screws were tighter here, less rusted. Whoever had installed this one had done a better job.

She yanked harder.

One screw squealed. Moved a fraction.

The knife hit the bottom of the duct near her foot with a screeching sound, metal on metal.

She screamed, kicking reflexively.

Her heel connected with something solid. A muffled grunt echoed up the duct.

For one heartbeat, a wild surge of hope flared.

Then the knife slashed forward again.

It caught the back of her calf this time.

Pain exploded, hot and blinding. Her leg jerked. Her knee slammed into the duct, banging bone against hollow metal. She tasted blood in her mouth where she’d bitten her tongue.

She almost let go of the vent cover.

Almost.

She clung to it like it was the only thing tethering her to the world. Tears blurred her vision. She yanked again, sobbing.

Another screw popped free.

The cover sagged outward an inch, letting in a thin sliver of light from the room beyond. It wasn’t much, but it was something, a hint of pale, flickering illumination against the darkness.

“Help,” she croaked, voice barely audible even to herself.

No one answered.

The knife scraped closer.

A moment later, it drove up into her thigh.

This time there was no glancing blow. No shallow cut.

It sank deep.

Her scream tore out of her, ragged and raw. Her whole body arched inside the narrow duct. The vent cover rattled under her hands. Light danced crazily in front of her eyes.

The blade wrenched free.

Her leg went numb.

She tried to pull herself forward anyway, dragging dead weight, leaving a thick, dark smear behind her. The duct seemed to tilt. Her head swam.

The knife struck again.

Higher.

A brutal, vicious jab into her lower back, between ribs and spine.

The pain was so big it didn’t even feel like pain at first, just a white-out, a total eclipse of everything else.

Her hands flew open.

Her fingers slipped off the vent cover.

For a moment, she had no sense of up or down. No sense of where her body ended and the metal began. She heard her own breath hitch, then stutter.

Then something in her chest seized.

The knife withdrew with a sickening metallic scrape as it grazed the bottom of the duct.

She tried to inhale. Couldn’t.

Her lungs refused to fill.

The sliver of light from the bent vent cover blurred, then narrowed, then stretched into a long, distant tunnel.

She opened her mouth.

No sound came out.

Her body spasmed once more, a weak, full-body flinch.

Then she went still.

The knife clanged against the duct one last time.

Silence settled in the narrow metal corridor, thick and absolute.

Below, through the vent, the faint outline of a room sat quiet and unchanged. The bed. The dresser. The smear of neon light across the ceiling.

Paige’s body hung there, wedged in the duct above it, blood soaking into the metal, dripping slowly along the seams.

The vent groaned once as her weight shifted.

Then held.

Time passed.

The motel sank deeper into the night.

Doors shut. Locks slid into place. Voices dropped to murmurs, then faded out entirely.

In her room down the hall, Autumn sat on the edge of her bed, staring at the wall.

Her shoulder throbbed under the bandage. The adrenaline from earlier… the shed, the feel of Adrianna’s fingers gripping hers, the sight of that horned mask at the door had finally burned off, leaving a sour exhaustion in its wake.

Her room felt too big and too small at the same time.

There was a knock at her door.

Soft. Two quick taps.

“Yeah?” she called.

“It’s me,” Blake’s voice said quietly. “You awake?”

She crossed the room and opened the door.

Blake stood there in the hallway, hair mussed, eyes shadowed. He looked older than he had two days ago. Not in the way Paige meant when she talked about aging out of roles, real older, the kind that came from too much fear and too little sleep.

“Hey,” Autumn said.

“Hey.” He hesitated. “Can I… come in?”

She stepped aside. “Yeah. Of course.”

He entered and hovered just past the threshold, hands stuffed into the pockets of his hoodie, gaze skimming the room like he was cataloging exits automatically.

“You okay?” she asked.

“Define ‘okay,’” he said weakly.

She almost smiled. “Fair.”

He sat on the edge of the bed and rubbed his face with both hands. “I tried closing my eyes,” he said. “Every time I do, I see Crow or Ruby or… that smile…” His jaw clenched. “Feels like my brain is looping footage I didn’t ask for.”

Autumn leaned against the dresser, arms folded loosely. “Your brain’s trying to make sense of something senseless.”

“It’s doing a shitty job,” he muttered.

They sat in silence for a moment, the hum of the building filling the space between them.

Finally, he said, “I was thinking… maybe we shouldn’t be alone tonight.”

Autumn raised an eyebrow. “You want to do another slumber party?”

His mouth twitched. “Something like that. Just safety in numbers, right? That’s what everyone always says.”

“Usually before they split up,” she said.

He huffed a faint laugh. “Exactly. So… we don’t do that.”

She considered him.

Part of her wanted to tell him to stay put, to insist she was fine, to keep everyone compartmentalized and predictable. Another part recognized the tremor in his hands, the way his gaze kept flicking to the door as if he expected it to swing open on its own and there was that other part, too. The one that had lain beside him in the dark, skin to skin, both of them clinging to each other like a lifeline. The part that remembered the way his voice had cracked when he said Farah’s name. The part that hated the idea of him shaking alone in a room with nothing but his thoughts.

“Are you asking to stay here,” she said slowly, “or asking me to stay with you?”

He hesitated. “Whichever makes you feel safer.”

She thought about her window. About Adrianna hidden across the hall. About the shed. About the Baphomet mask.

“I’d rather not move my stuff again,” she said, keeping it casual. “So… here, I guess.”

He nodded quickly. “Yeah. That’s… yeah. Makes sense.”

“You can have the side away from the door,” she added.

He gave her a tired almost-smile. “Chivalry’s dead, huh?”

“Chivalry can get stabbed first,” she said. “I don’t recommend it.”

He snorted. “Fair point.”

They went through the motions of sleep like people who’d forgotten what it was supposed to feel like. Blake ducked back to his own room to grab his pillow and a hoodie, double-checking his door lock twice before leaving it behind. Autumn turned off the overhead light and switched on the small bedside lamp instead, letting the room sink into a gentler, amber glow.

When Blake returned, he paused in the doorway, listening.

“No screaming,” he said quietly.

“Small blessings,” Autumn answered.

He shut the door and slid the lock into place.

They settled into the bed, awkwardly at first, then with a little more ease. There was space between them, not as much as there could have been, not as little as there had been the night they’d given in to fear and skin and everything in between. This felt different. Warmer in some ways. Colder in others.

“You sure you’re okay with this?” he asked into the semi-dark.

“If I wasn’t, you wouldn’t be here,” she said.

“Right.” He stared up at the ceiling. “Thanks.”

She turned her head on the pillow to look at him. “For what?”

“For… not letting me spiral alone,” he said. “Again.”

“You’d just pace a hole in the carpet,” she said. “I’m saving the motel’s deposit.”

He gave a small huff of laughter. “Pretty sure the deposit’s a lost cause at this point.”

“Yeah,” she said softly. “Probably.”

Silence fell again, but it wasn’t as jagged this time.

Outside, the wind worried at the trees. Somewhere, a shutter clicked against the side of the building. A pipe rattled in the wall.

Autumn let her eyes close.

For a while, she floated in that uneasy half-space between awake and asleep, aware of Blake’s breathing beside her, of the faint ache in her shoulder, of the dull throb in the building itself.

At some point, the bedside lamp’s timer clicked off, plunging the room into deeper darkness. The only light left came from the muted red glow of the neon sign bleeding in around the edges of the curtains, staining the ceiling a faint, restless color.

Hours bled together.

In the duct above their room, the metal continued to bear the weight it wasn’t built for.

Paige’s body lay twisted in the narrow corridor, blood dried along the seams. Every so often, the building shifted, just enough to nudge her a fraction of an inch. Each tiny movement made the screws in the vent below her whine a little more, the metal lip of the opening bending a little farther.

One screw gave way with a soft, almost apologetic ping.

The vent sagged.

Autumn slept through it.

Blake stirred once, mumbling something unintelligible, then settled again.

Another screw popped.

The metal grate tilted, now held by only two rusting fasteners. The weight above it pressed down, relentless and patient.

Outside, the wind gusted.

The building shuddered.

The final screws sheared off.

The vent tore open.

For a split second, there was a feeling of weightlessness in the duct… a tiny, awful pause as gravity reached up and grabbed hold.

Then Paige’s body dropped.

She crashed through the thin layer of ceiling below, bringing plaster and dust and chunks of insulation with her.

She hit the floor at the foot of Autumn’s bed with a heavy, wet impact that shook the frame.

Dust billowed through the room.

The neon light from outside caught the smear of dried blood on her skin, the slackness of her face, the twisted line of her limbs where they’d been forced to fit a space too small.

Her eyes stared at nothing.

The room rang with the echo of the crash.