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The space between us disappears. Neither of us makes the decision. Neither of us stops it.

The kiss is not gentle. Not after 15 years. Not after anger. Not after everything we've lost.

It's desperate. A collision of everything we refused to admit. For a few minutes, there is no entity. No mystery. No Halloween countdown. No impossible reality. Only him. Only me.

Only the truth we have spent 15 years avoiding. And then⁠—

A branch cracks in the woods. We separate instantly. Reality returns. Rhett looks toward the tree line.

I look away. Because the worst part isn't what just happened. It's that I don't regret it. Not even a little.

The entity may be watching us. It may know exactly what we are. But now I know something too.

Whatever is coming…

It isn't the only thing in this town that refuses to let go.

16

RHETT

OCTOBER 24 ~ 7 DAYS UNTIL HALLOWEEN

The first mistake people make after surviving an attack is assuming survival means they won. It doesn't. It means you learned something.

The question is whether you learned enough before the next attack.

I wake before sunrise. Habit. Training. Instinct.

The world is quiet in that strange space before morning begins. Sleepy Hollow hasn't fully awakened yet. No tourists carrying cameras down Main Street. No children in costumes running between decorated storefronts. No cheerful Halloween music drifting from speakers outside cafés.

Just darkness. And the sound of my own thoughts. Which is worse.

I sit up slowly, careful not to wake Carys. The memory of yesterday returns immediately.

Her in my arms. The fear in her eyes. The way she looked at me like she hated me and needed me at the same time. The way I almost forgot there was a threat surrounding us.

Almost.

That cannot happen again.

The entity is learning. And so am I. The difference is that I know what happens when instinct takes control without discipline. People get hurt.

I dress quietly and move through the cottage. Every entry point gets checked. Front door.

Back door. Windows. Locks. Sensors. The equipment I installed last night shows exactly what I expected. Interference. Not random. Focused. The entity isn't attacking blindly. It is testing.

The worst part? It's getting better.

I review the footage from the perimeter cameras. Most of it is useless. Static. Distortion.

Missing frames. But there are patterns. There always are. The first appearance lasted seventeen seconds. The second lasted twenty-nine. The third⁠—

Yesterday's attack. Forty-six.

Each time it remains longer. Each time it gets closer. I mark the locations. The tree line. The fence. The property. The porch.

A progression. A path. My wolf growls beneath my skin. It knows what I do. The entity isn't trying to enter the house. Not yet. It's mapping our defenses. Finding weaknesses. Finding the easiest way in.