Claire's breath caught in her throat.
The figure emerging from the shadows was impossibly tall, its body wrapped in strips of skin-like parchment, covered in scribbled words—names. Dozens, maybe hundreds. Some still moved. Whispering. Pleading.
The Whisper Collector.
Its head tilted. Not in curiosity.
In recognition.
Claire instinctively stepped in front of Evan, shielding him.
The creature didn't move. But its voice—dozens of voices woven into one—filled the room like smoke:
"You said his name."
Claire's heart thundered.
"No," she whispered. "I didn't."
The thing leaned forward, revealing its face—or rather, its lack of one. Where eyes should've been, there were only gaping holes. Where a mouth should've rested, there was a jagged rip that moved like it was smiling.
"You thought it," it hissed."That is enough."
Behind her, Evan trembled. "It takes your voice first. Then your name. Then… you."
Claire gritted her teeth. "You're not taking him."
The mark on her palm burned, flaring with light. For the first time, the Whisper Collector recoiled.
Claire looked down. The sigil was glowing brighter now, pulsing like a warning—or a weapon.
The house shuddered.
Walls groaned. The stone beneath them cracked. The whispering grew louder from all directions. Thousands of voices. Some screaming. Some laughing. Some chanting Claire's name.
The Collector shrieked—a sound like every scream she'd ever heard, layered and distorted. The lantern above them exploded, plunging everything into darkness.
Then—silence.
Claire reached for Evan's chains, yanking them with all her strength.
They broke.
He fell into her arms, weak but breathing.
But the Collector was still there.
And it had stopped whispering.
Now… it was remembering.
"Claire Ashwood," it said slowly, relishing every syllable."You belong to the house now."
The walls split open.
And the house itself began to move.