Sarah didn't move for a long time.
She just stared through the window, eyes fixed on the figure at the edge of the woods. The woman stood still—unnaturally still, like something carved from the dark. Her hand hovered mid-air in that haunting wave, fingers slightly curled, as if beckoning instead of greeting.
And even from this distance, Sarah knew. She didn't need to squint or strain. Her body remembered what her mind tried to forget.
It was her.
Or… what was left of her.
Sarai.
Ace followed her gaze. The minute he saw the figure, his chair scraped back from the table. He crossed to the window, hand drifting toward the knife strapped to his side. It wasn't instinct anymore—it was ritual. Protection didn't come with panic now. It came with precision.
"She's not supposed to be out there," he said, voice low.
Sarah exhaled. "She's not supposed to exist."
And yet, there she was.
The field between the house and the forest was a wide, open stretch of untamed land. In daylight, it looked peaceful—golden grass swaying with the breeze, birds weaving through the sky. But now, with morning barely risen and the letter still bleeding its truth across the table, the whole world felt slightly... off-axis.
Sarai didn't move. Didn't blink.
And when Ace stepped in front of the window, blocking her from view, Sarah felt an unsettling tug in her chest—like some invisible thread connecting her to the shadow in the woods had gone taut.
"She's not going to come to the house," Ace said. "She's baiting you."
Sarah nodded slowly. "Because she wants me to go to her."
Ace turned to her. "You're not going out there alone."
She gave him a look that was all steel. "I wasn't planning to."
They prepared in silence.
Old habits returned: Ace checked their supplies—flashlights, salt, iron blades, small pouches filled with protective ash. Not superstitious tools anymore. Necessary ones.
Sarah didn't pack anything.
She didn't need to.
What Sarai wanted wasn't in the woods. It was in her.
When they stepped outside, the wind had shifted. It no longer carried the warmth of morning. It pressed against them like breath from an open mouth.
The field swallowed their footsteps, the grass whispering secrets they couldn't quite hear.
And still—still—Sarai stood waiting.
Only now she wasn't alone.
Figures began to emerge from the edges of the trees. Human shapes. Pale, flickering. Transparent. Memories.
They lined the forest like sentinels.
Sarah froze. Her heartbeat slowed. "Those are…"
"Pieces of you," Ace said quietly. "The ones she kept."
The figures didn't approach. They just watched.
Sarah could name them without even trying.
The younger version of herself who cried beneath Hal's fists.
The one who smiled through broken teeth and said "I'm fine."
The one who first whispered Sarai in the dark.
She walked forward, one step at a time, until she stood ten feet from her shadow.
Sarai's smile was soft. Almost kind. But her eyes remained ancient. Sharp. As if she'd lived centuries in the months Sarah had kept her buried.
"Hello, darling," she said.
Sarah's throat felt tight. "You sent the letter."
"I reminded you," Sarai said. "Of who you were. Who you still are. You think walking away made you whole, but that was just running. You haven't faced me. Not really."
Ace stood beside her, knife low at his side, silent.
Sarah raised her chin. "I faced you in the attic. You lost."
"No." Sarai took one barefoot step closer. "You rejected me. You didn't face me. You feared me. And now? I'm stronger. Because every time you doubt yourself, every time he touches you and you flinch—every secret you swallow instead of speak—I grow."
Sarah didn't step back.
But she felt it—that truth sliding into her like cold water.
Sarai circled her now, slowly. The figures behind her moved too, shadows swaying like dancers caught in some old ritual.
"Why do you think the house cracked?" Sarai murmured. "Because you hoped I was gone. But you never healed. You just... paused."
Ace stepped between them. "That's enough."
But Sarah raised her hand.
"No," she said. "Let her speak."
Sarai smiled again. "He's always protecting you, isn't he? Even from yourself. But what happens when he can't?"
She leaned in, whispering so only Sarah could hear.
"What happens when he hurts you, too?"
Sarah felt the burn of those words. Like claws tracing her ribs.
But instead of stepping away… she looked Sarai in the eyes.
"I'm not afraid of you," she said.
Sarai's voice dropped to a rasp. "Then why am I still here?"
And for a moment—just a breath—Sarah didn't have an answer.
The wind surged.
The field trembled.
And the first raindrops fell—light at first, then hard and fast, drenching the ground, washing away the illusions.
But Sarai did not vanish.
She stood firm.
Real.
Waiting.
And Sarah understood: this wasn't just a haunting.
It was a challenge.