The knock came again—three slow, deliberate taps echoing through the silence of the house like a clock ticking down to something inevitable.
Knock.
Knock.
Knock.
Each sound seemed to press against the walls, vibrating through the air, through the floorboards, and into their bones.
Leah backed away from the study door, her eyes fixed on the wood like she expected it to splinter open. Her hands shook at her sides.
Daniel stood frozen beside her, one foot shifted slightly forward like he was preparing to either fight or flee, unsure which instinct to obey.
Mia didn't move. She held the notebook tighter against her chest, the weight of it no longer metaphorical. It was heavy with knowledge she hadn't asked for.
Their father's words echoed in her head:
"Elliot remembers now."
"The protection is gone."
And what happens when protection is gone?
The knock stopped.
A beat passed.
Then the door creaked open on its own. Slowly.
The hallway beyond was dim but not dark. The sunlight had dimmed outside, casting long shadows through the windows, stretching across the floor like fingers reaching for them. But no one stood in the hall. No figure. No footsteps. Only that same unnatural stillness.
"It's baiting us," Leah whispered.
"No," Mia said. "It's reminding us."
Daniel turned to her. "Reminding us of what? That we had a brother we were all forced to forget? That our dad made a deal with… something?"
Mia didn't answer. Not immediately. She felt like the answer was there—just out of reach, like a name on the tip of the tongue.
Instead, she crossed the threshold first. "We won't get the truth standing still."
Daniel sighed heavily, rubbing a hand across his face. "You're too calm about this."
"I'm not calm. I'm just not willing to stay trapped in the dark again."
The three of them stepped back into the hallway. It felt colder now. Like the house had exhaled something invisible into the air, something old and watching.
They moved carefully toward the staircase, the wood groaning underfoot. The shadows on the walls flickered—though there were no lights on.
Mia stopped at the landing and looked up toward the attic door. It hadn't been there when they arrived. That much she was sure of.
But now it hung open, the ladder extended downward like an invitation.
Leah hesitated. "We're not going up there again, right?"
"I think we have to," Mia said softly. "There's more to see."
Daniel reached for the flashlight. "I swear, if something touches me this time, I'm burning this whole place down."
They climbed.
The attic was darker now than before. The crib in the corner remained, the music box still atop its folded blanket. The air was dry, like a throat that hadn't spoken in years.
But this time, there was something else.
A figure stood at the far edge of the attic, beyond the boxes and shadows. His small frame was dimly lit by the shaft of light from the attic hatch.
Mia knew. "Elliot."
The boy turned slowly. His face was pale but not sickly. His eyes—too deep for his age—looked straight at her.
"You remember now," he said.
"Yes," Mia whispered. "We do."
Leah was crying softly behind her. Daniel didn't speak.
Elliot took a step forward. "I waited."
"We forgot you," Mia said. "But we didn't know. He—Dad—he took you from us. He made us forget."
The boy nodded once. "To save you."
"What did he save us from?" Daniel asked. "What was he so afraid of?"
Elliot's gaze shifted toward the corner of the attic. Slowly, he raised a hand and pointed.
There was nothing there.
Until they blinked.
A figure began to emerge.
Tall. Cloaked in black. Face hidden behind a veil darker than shadow. It stood perfectly still, like a statue waiting to be acknowledged.
Leah gripped Mia's sleeve. "What… what is that?"
Elliot's voice was quiet but clear. "That is the one he made the deal with."
"The collector," Mia breathed.
The figure didn't move, didn't speak. But it didn't have to. Its presence was heavy enough to make the air in the attic feel thinner, harder to breathe.
"He gave you up," Daniel said, more to himself than anyone. "To that."
Elliot nodded. "He gave me in exchange for your safety. But he didn't pay in full."
The collector turned its head slightly.
Mia stepped forward, her hands trembling. "Then what's left to pay?"
The attic shifted. The floor beneath them lit up—faint red lines forming a circle. Symbols Mia couldn't read flared into shape around their feet.
Elliot didn't flinch. "There is always a balance."
"What do you mean?"
"I was never enough."
The circle glowed brighter. Heat rose through the boards. Leah yelped and jumped back.
"We have to get out of here," Daniel said. "Now."
"The door's gone," Mia said. She turned—where the attic hatch had been was now solid ceiling.
They were sealed in.
The collector raised its hand. The light in the attic dimmed to a pulse—slow and rhythmic, like a heartbeat.
Mia felt her knees weaken. "What does it want?"
"You," Elliot said simply. "One of you. One for one. That's how it works."
"No," Daniel said. "Absolutely not."
Elliot didn't argue. He only looked at Mia. "You can leave. If you choose. But the house won't let you all go again. Not without a replacement."
Silence.
Then Mia spoke. "I'll stay."
Daniel spun to her. "Are you out of your mind?"
"Don't try to talk me out of it."
"I'm your brother!"
"And so is he," Mia snapped, pointing to Elliot. "He was left behind because someone else made a choice. I won't repeat it."
Leah collapsed to the floor, sobbing. "There has to be another way!"
"There isn't," Elliot said. "Not now."
Mia turned to the collector. "You want someone? Take me."
The attic was still. The symbols dimmed.
Elliot stepped forward. "You would give yourself up… for me?"
She looked him in the eye. "You never should've been the one to pay."
The collector lowered its hand.
Then something happened Mia didn't expect—Elliot smiled. Not just with his mouth, but with his whole face.
"I remember now," he said. "That's all I needed."
The circle vanished.
The attic hatch reappeared. The collector… was gone.
"Wait," Mia said. "What just happened?"
"You didn't need to die," Elliot said. "You needed to choose. Someone needed to remember me. To acknowledge me. That's how the deal breaks."
"So… you're free?"
"I don't know," Elliot said. "But I'm not angry anymore."
He stepped back. His form started to blur, dissolve.
"Mia?"
She moved toward him. "Thank you. For forgiving us."
Elliot's smile lingered as his image faded. "Don't forget again."
Then he was gone.
The attic was just an attic again.
The three siblings stared at one another, stunned.
Then Daniel laughed. Once. Shaky. "Can we go now?"
Mia nodded slowly. "Yeah. Let's go home."