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Khaos and Rook moved toward him, but chains materialized around their wrists and ankles, dragging them back to their platforms. The metal bit into their skin, drawing thin red lines.

“Do you see now, Zinnia?” The entity’s voice echoed through the chamber. “The Devil loved you once. He betrayed you. And now you’re going to repeat the cycle that gave me power.”

“Please, no.”

“Yes.” She turned to face me fully. “You will perform with all three of them. You will let the House witness. You will bind them to you the way Evangeline bound them to this place. Or I will kill Malachi slowly enough that you hear every scream, destroy Rook and Khaos in ways that make death look merciful, and keep your sister behind the red door until she forgets she was ever human.”

Malachi lifted his head, blood running into his mouth, staining his teeth. “Don’t,” he said, his voice raw. “Don’t give her what she wants.”

I looked at him—at the blood soaking the stage, the tremor in his hands, the way he was still trying to meet my gaze even though his body was breaking. I looked at Rook, chained and silent, his massive frame tense. I looked at Khaos, whose silver eyes were fixed on me with an intensity that felt like a warning.

Then I looked past the entity, toward the darkness at the back of the stage.

A figure stood there—tall, hollow-eyed, her posture too still. She looked like Dahlia, but her movements were wrong, puppet-like.

The House-made echo.

“If I do this,” I said slowly, “you let them go.”

“If you do this, I’ll let you all live.” The entity’s smile widened. “But you have to choose it freely, Zinnia. I feed on desire, consent, and witnessed choice. If you’re coerced, the ritual fails. If you’re forced, the contract breaks. So tell me—do you want to save them?”

Khaos’s gaze sharpened. Behind the Madman’s mask, his lips moved, forming words I couldn't hear, but I understood: The House needs you to choose it freely. That’s the weakness.

Rook’s voice came next. “She’s telling the truth about the terms. The House can’t take what isn’t offered.”

Malachi tried to speak, but the effort cost him. He swayed, barely upright, but he didn’t look away.

“Fine,” I said. “I’ll do it.”

The entity gestured. The chains holding Khaos and Rook released. They stood slowly, their bodies tense, their gazes locked on me. Malachi remained on the stage, blood still pooling beneath him.

Then, its black eyes swept across the stage. Malachi stood motionless in his burnished copper Devil mask, blood still dripping from the wound in his stomach. Rook’s distressed-brown leather Hound mask caught the light, his massive frame rigid beside him. Khaos wore his split-faced silver porcelain Madman mask, one side grinning and the other weeping, his mismatched eyes invisible behind the porcelain.

The masks were already serving their purpose. The functions were already in place.

“You see what they are,” the entity said, its voice layered and vibrating through the walls. “What they’ve become. What they’ll always be.”

The audience leaned forward, their porcelain faces reflecting the lights.

They were waiting.

Hungry.

The entity turned to me. “Now show them what you’re willing to do. Repeat the ritual that gave me power. Bind them to you the way Evangeline bound them to this place.”

“No.”

That single word hung in the air like a blade.

Black eyes widened as the entity stared at me, and for a moment the entire room seemed to hold its breath. Then the stage beneath us fractured. Wooden planks split open with a sound like breaking bone, and the audience rose as one—not standing, but lifting, their porcelain faces tilting upward as the House itself began to move. Benches tilted. Railings groaned. I felt the floor shift beneath my feet, and I understood with sudden, sickening clarity that we were being pulled downward, that the House was dragging us toward something older than the velvet corridors and theatrical lights.

Malachi grabbed my arm. Rook lunged forward. Khaos reached out, his ledger falling from his hands as the stage gave way entirely.

We fell through darkness and dust, through layers of the House that had been built on top of something far more ancient. The air grew colder and thicker. The sound of the audience faded, replaced by the groan of timber and the whisper of earth shifting above us.

Then, we hit the ground hard.

Chapter 15