"She didn't drown," Daniel said. "She was strangled. Right here."
I stared at him. The bathroom light made his face look carved from something cold.
"Bullshit," I said. "The medical examiner said—"
"The examiner lied." He didn't blink. "Or someone paid him to."
My hand went to my throat. The bruises I'd seen in the mirror weren't there anymore, but I could still feel them, like fingerprints burned into skin.
"Why?"
"Because if they called it murder, they'd have to investigate the house." He stepped back, giving me space I didn't want. "And no one investigates this place twice."
I pushed past him, out of the bathroom, into the hallway. The walls felt closer than they had five minutes ago. The air tasted like rust and old paint.
"You knew her," I said. "You knew my mother."
"I knew what she was trying to do."
"Which was?"
"Get out." His voice was flat. "She almost made it."
I turned on him. "Almost?"
He looked at me like I was supposed to understand something I didn't. "You don't just walk away from a contract, Leah. Not with this house."
"What contract?"
Before he could answer, the wall beside us creaked. Not the sound of old wood settling. The sound of someone dragging nails down the other side.
Daniel's whole body went rigid.
"Don't," he said quietly.
I didn't know if he was talking to me or the house.
The scratching stopped. Then a voice came through, low and hoarse, like it had been screaming for hours.
"Cass ran."
I knew that voice. I'd heard it two weeks ago in the ER, right before the body bag zipped shut.
Mara Cunningham.
"She left you for us," the voice said.
My throat closed. I couldn't breathe.
Daniel grabbed my arm and pulled me toward the stairs. "Move."
"Let go—"
"Now, Leah."
I yanked free but followed him down, my feet hitting every other step, my hand sliding along the banister that felt too warm under my palm. We didn't stop until we were in the kitchen, the door shut behind us, Daniel's back pressed against it like he could hold the whole house out.
I leaned against the counter, chest heaving. "That was her. That was Mara."
"I know."
"She's dead."
"I know."
"She's been dead for two weeks."
He nodded.
I wanted to scream. Instead I said, "What the hell is a contract?"
Daniel ran a hand through his hair. He looked older in the kitchen light, like the house aged him faster than it should. "This place was built on a deal. Someone a long time ago wanted something bad enough to promise the house a life in return. The house took it. Then it took another. And another. It doesn't stop."
"That's insane."
"That's the truth."
"Then why are you still here?"
His jaw tightened. "Because I can't leave."
"Why not?"
"Same reason your mother couldn't."
I stared at him. The fluorescent bulb over the sink flickered once, twice, then held.
"You're saying my mother made a deal with this house."
"I'm saying she inherited one." He crossed his arms. "And when she tried to break it, the house took her instead."
"And now it wants me."
He didn't answer. He didn't have to.
I pushed off the counter and walked to the window. Outside, the street was empty. No cars. No lights in the neighboring houses. Just the glow from the one streetlamp that didn't quite reach the porch.
"What happens if I leave?"
"You won't make it to the end of the block."
I turned. "How do you know?"
"Because I've tried." His voice was quiet. "Sixteen times."
Something cold crawled up my spine. "How long have you been here?"
"Long enough to know what happens when you fight it."
I wanted to ask what that meant, but the kitchen light went out.
We both froze.
In the dark, I could hear my own heartbeat. Then I heard something else. Footsteps. Slow. Deliberate. Coming from upstairs.
Daniel's hand found mine in the dark. His grip was tight, almost painful.
"Don't move," he whispered.
The footsteps stopped at the top of the stairs.
Then Mara's voice came again, closer this time, like she was standing right outside the kitchen door.
"Leah Cash. Thirty-two. ER nurse. Shift ends at six a.m."
My blood turned to ice.
"How does she know that?" I breathed.
Daniel pulled me closer. I could feel the heat of him, the tension in every muscle. "Because the house knows. It's been watching you since you walked in."
"Watching—"
"It knows your schedule. Your route to work. Who you talk to. What you're afraid of."
The door creaked open.
Mara stood in the doorway. Or something wearing her face did. Her eyes were black, no white left, and her neck bent at an angle that wasn't possible unless every bone was broken.
"You owe a life," she said. "Cass didn't finish. So you do."
I couldn't move. Couldn't breathe.
Daniel stepped in front of me. "She doesn't owe you anything."
Mara's head tilted further. The crack of bone was loud in the silence. "She's blood. Blood pays."
"Not tonight," Daniel said.
Mara smiled. It was the worst thing I'd ever seen.
"Then tomorrow," she said. "End of shift. Six a.m."
She turned and walked back into the dark. The footsteps faded. The kitchen light flickered back on.
I was shaking so hard I couldn't stand. Daniel caught me before I hit the floor.
"What did she mean?" I said. "End of shift?"
He didn't answer. He pulled out his phone, opened an app I didn't recognize, and held it up so I could see the screen.
It was a photo of the hallway upstairs. The same hallway I'd walked through twenty minutes ago.
But now, scratched into the wall beside my bedroom door, was a line of text.
Leah Cash. 06:00. 11/14.
Today was the thirteenth.
"What is that?" I whispered.
"A death line," Daniel said. "The house marks you. Gives you a date. When the time runs out—"
He didn't finish.
He didn't have to.
I looked at the screen again. The numbers were already changing.
05:59.
05:58.
Counting down.
I grabbed his wrist. "How do I stop it?"
His eyes met mine. They were dark, desperate, and for the first time since I'd met him, I saw something that looked like fear.
"I don't know," he said. "No one ever has."
The clock on his phone ticked down another second.
05:57.
And somewhere upstairs, Mara laughed.