27 Feb The Last Evocation

Part I

It had been a dry summer, and the wooden beams groaned with every shift of the wind, the scent of dust and old, rotting wood lingering in the air. August Dewalt listened carefully, adjusting the weight of the EVP recorder in his grip. His daughter, Leslie, stood near the boarded-up doorway, her posture rigid, grazing the splintered frame with her fingertips.

She wasn’t hearing what he was hearing.

“Something’s wrong,” she said, her voice nearly lost beneath the static hum of their equipment. “We need to leave.”

August could barely conceal his frustration. He motioned for his son Christian to check the readings, but he remained unmoving, his features a mask of quiet dread.

August knew that look.

“It’s not what we thought,” Christian murmured. “I think this thing—” He hesitated, as if weighing his words. “—it’s not an ordinary poltergeist.”

Leslie’s expression darkened. “Dad, we need to go!”

August had heard enough. He had spent four decades chasing shadows, pulling whispers from dark places, and unraveling the unseen like threads from a frayed quilt. They had encountered entities that could throw objects, scratch skin, and whisper threats in the night. They had faced worse than this, and he wasn’t about to back down.

He pressed on, walking through the narrow hallway toward the farthest room, the one that had drawn them here. The tenant, long since fled, had described things moving on their own, guttural voices coming from the walls, and the sense of being watched even in an empty room. As for August, he’d felt it—waiting for him—the moment he set foot on the property.

A cold ripple passed through the house, bending the candlelight, and in the corner of his eye, August saw something move.

Leslie gasped, and August turned just as she was lifted off her feet. Her body snapped backward, arms yanked to her sides, fingers curling, jerking, her mouth opening in a silent scream. Her eyes, wide and unseeing, reflected nothing but black.

Christian was already moving. “Let her go!” he shouted, running toward her, but August knew—with absolute certainty—that it was already too late.

Leslie convulsed, back arching, her head snapping to the side so violently it should have broken her neck.

Then the sound came—a wretched, hollow laugh, in an unfamiliar voice—pouring from Leslie’s mouth in wet, stuttering fragments. August reached for his talisman, hoping to break the hold, but Leslie’s feet hit the ground before he could react. Her body swayed, knees barely supporting her, and when Christian caught her, he collapsed beneath her weight, dragging them both to the floor.

August moved forward, but Christian lifted a shaking hand. “Stay back,” he whispered.

Leslie’s body twitched once, and then fell still.

“She’s not waking up!” Christian said, panic rising in his voice.

August knelt beside her, pressing two fingers to her throat. She had a pulse, but something was wrong. Her expression was vacant; her lips parted slightly, hands curled inward like she was grasping at something unseen.

Christian pulled her closer, shaking his head in disbelief. “What did you do!?” he screamed, his voice raw.

The air around them was changing. The temperature had dropped so sharply that condensation formed on the wooden beams.

August had seen this before—the entity was still here.

The rest of the team had already fled. He could hear their hurried footsteps on the porch, the engine of their van sputtering to life.

Cowards.

The thing inside the house wasn’t done with them yet. Every lightbulb in the room burst simultaneously, showering them in fragments of glass, and the laughter returned, warping into something far more sinister. This time, it didn’t emanate from Leslie’s mouth, but from every corner of the room.

August pressed his palm against her forehead, desperately whispering an incantation to no avail.

The walls trembled, the laughter rose, and a wave of darkness rushed forward, swallowing them whole.

* * * * * *

August barely remembered the drive to the hospital. He didn’t remember how they got out of that house, how they had managed to carry Leslie’s unconscious body to the car, or how he had gripped the wheel so tightly his knuckles had gone white. But he remembered Christian’s silence—and he remembered the moment Leslie’s eyes fluttered open for the first time since the incident. Vacant, empty, seeing nothing at all.

She never spoke or moved again.

She never woke up.

The doctors called it a coma, but had no neurological explanation. They ran tests, performed scans, and administered medications—nothing changed.

Christian had ignored his calls ever since.

August Dewalt, once revered for his work in the supernatural, became a disgrace in the world he had built. Worse still, he surmised, the thing inside that house was still out there, somewhere, reveling in the destruction it had caused.

For August, this was not just unacceptable—it was an abomination. One day, he pledged, he would confront the entity again. And when he did, he would finish what he started. If it were the last thing he ever did, he would avenge his daughter and make it pay for what it had done to his family.

Part II

August hadn’t set foot in Hillview in years.

As he drove through the quiet town, he spotted the familiar, narrow alleyways and the church’s iconic steeple, casting its timeless shadow over the town square. The ghosts of his younger years lingered in every storefront, bringing to mind a past that felt both buried and undeniably alive.

And why shouldn’t it? August had spent half his life in Hillview, after all, back when his name meant something. Back when people came to him not with skepticism, but with trust.

Now, people barely met his gaze. He saw it in the cashier’s fleeting glance when he stopped at a gas station on the way in. He saw it in the way an old neighbor turned away sharply as he passed by on the sidewalk. And he knew, without even having to ask, that they all remembered.

They remembered Leslie.

He pulled into the driveway of an old friend’s house—a place he used to visit so often that it had once felt like a second home. Now, even the walls seemed to regard him with suspicion.

The man who opened the door was thinner than he used to be, his once-strong frame withered by time and grief. Mark Sullivan had been a firefighter in his youth, a man whose presence commanded respect. But now, his eyes were sunken, his hair grayer than August remembered.

“August,” Mark said, his voice rough. “You actually came.”

August nodded, and Mark stepped aside, motioning him in.

The house was quiet. The living room was dimly lit, the curtains drawn even though it was mid-afternoon. August smelled coffee, but the pot on the counter looked like it had been sitting for hours.

Mark sat down with a sigh, rubbing his hands over his face before looking up. “I wouldn’t have called you if I didn’t have to.”

August leaned forward. “Tell me what’s happening.”

Mark shook his head. “It’s back, August, in my son’s house. The thing that took your daughter.”

August narrowed his eyes as the words sank in.

Mark continued. “It started about a month ago. My granddaughter, Ellie—she’s only eleven. She started waking up with scratches on her arms, saying she heard someone whispering in her room at night. I thought it was just nightmares. But then things started moving around the house. Cabinets slammed shut on their own. And last week, Edith swore she saw something standing at the end of our bed.”

August clenched his jaw. He already knew what Mark was going to say next.

“She’s been talking to it, August,” Mark whispered. “Just like Leslie did.”

A distant memory surfaced, unbidden, of Leslie sitting cross-legged in her childhood bedroom, speaking in hushed tones to someone only she could see. August had found her like that countless times, and he had ignored the warnings until it was too late.

He pushed the thought aside.

“I need your help,” Mark said, gripping the edge of the table. “This thing… It’s going to take Ellie. And I don’t want her to end up like… like…”

He trailed off.

August’s fingers curled around the coffee mug in front of him. He hadn’t had a real case in years—not since the incident. But he wasn’t about to walk away from this one, not if he was dealing with the same entity and had a chance to end it for good.

“You can count on me. I’ll do whatever I can,” August said. Mark’s shoulders sagged in relief. “But I’ll need help.”

* * * * * *

Christian was not happy to see August; that was expected. What he hadn’t expected, however, was the amount of venom in his voice, or the lengths Christian went to in order to avoid his father’s gaze after opening the door.

August’s only son stood in the entryway, arms crossed over his broad chest. He had aged—there was more salt than pepper in his hair now, and wrinkles forming on his forehead—but he still had his mother’s eyes. Eyes that, at one point, had looked at August with admiration. Now, they held nothing but disdain.

“What do you want, Dad?” Christian asked flatly.

August cleared his throat. “I need your help, Christian.”

His son let out a humorless laugh, shaking his head. “Not interested.”

“It’s the entity,” August pressed on. “The same one. It’s back.”

Christian’s jaw tightened.

“I know you don’t trust me anymore,” August said. “Hell, I don’t blame you. But this thing isn’t finished. And if we don’t stop it now, it’s never going to stop.”

Christian said nothing.

Then, from somewhere in the house, a voice called out. “Dad? Who’s at the door?”

A boy, about twelve, stepped into view. Tanner. August had only seen him in photos. The last time he spoke to his grandson, the boy was still in diapers.

Christian put a protective hand on his son’s shoulder, guiding him away from the doorway. “Go back inside.”

Tanner frowned. “But—”

“I said go.”

Christian’s voice was firm, but August didn’t miss the flicker of unease in his son’s face.

Tanner hesitated, his gaze flicking between the two of them before disappearing into the house.

“I know what you’re thinking,” August said quietly, “and you’re right. I shouldn’t be here. But I didn’t come for me, Christian. I came for you.”

Christian’s expression didn’t change, but August saw the tension in his shoulders.

“You think this is just about some old case,” August continued. “But it’s not. It’s about your son, too.”

That got Christian’s attention.

“Tanner’s been having nightmares, hasn’t he?” August asked. “Waking up scared. Hearing things that aren’t there.”

Christian’s silence was all the confirmation he needed.

August swallowed hard. “It’s after him, too, Christian, just like it was after Leslie. We can’t run away from this anymore.”

Christian turned away, his posture rigid, and rubbed a hand over his face. When he spoke again, his tone was subdued.

“It never really left, did it?” Christian asked.

“No,” August said, shaking his head. “I’m afraid not.”

Christian stared at the ground. For a long moment, he said nothing.

Then, finally—reluctantly—he met August’s gaze.

“What do we do?”

Part III

The house loomed in the fog, taller than August remembered.

He had been to Penridge Manor once before, years ago. Back then, the old Victorian had already been in disrepair, but it always seemed to hold its bones together. It was a house with a storied history, the type of place that outlived generations. But now, it was something else entirely—its structure warped, its foundation beginning to show the signs of impending failure. Its condition had worsened dramatically within the past month, with no obvious cause, as if the land itself were rejecting it. August was surprised it hadn’t collapsed.

The atmosphere on the property was tense and foreboding. The trees that lined the property had gone bare early this year, their skeletal branches curling inward toward the house like grasping fingers. The front porch sagged under its own weight, and the windows above reflected nothing.

As he stood on the front walk, staring up at its exterior, August thought about the last time he had faced what had long ago taken up residence inside.

Behind him, Christian parked the truck and stepped out. He hadn’t said much on the drive over, and even now, he stood stiffly beside his father, eyes locked on the house with an unreadable expression.

“Who else is coming?” Christian asked.

“Be patient,” August said, checking his watch. “They should be here soon.”

“I still don’t know why you think this is a good idea,” Christian argued. “And you didn’t answer my question. I didn’t ask when they would be here. I want to know who you managed to come on this suicide mission with us.”

“Stop being so dramatic, Christian. It’s not about whether it’s a good idea or not,” August said. “It’s about finishing this. And don’t worry about who’s coming. Trust me.”

Christian scoffed and rolled his eyes. “Whatever you say, Dad.”

True to his word, the other members of August’s investigation team soon arrived in a single black SUV with tinted windows, parking alongside Christian’s truck. The Dewalt Paranormal Group had once been a well-known name, back when they had worked as a family and their investigations led to real results. Back before Leslie. Now, August took whatever he could get.

The members of the team August had assembled were younger and fresher, some of them more interested in the social media side of the business than the danger they were walking into, but they were the best he could do on short notice.

The first to step out was Graham Ellis, a young man in his mid-twenties who had seen just enough horror to remain cautious but not enough to truly understand it. He had a compact, muscled frame, and his sharp, analytical gaze moved immediately to the house.

“Christ,” he muttered. “This is even worse than the pictures. You’re telling me someone lived here until recently? How did they not expect this place to be haunted?”

Behind him, Amelia Tran and Dev Patel emerged. Amelia, in her early thirties, was one of the more serious investigators August had interviewed. She was methodical and professional, and kept her equipment pristine. Dev, a decade younger, was enthusiastic but seemed a bit too eager to chase what he didn’t understand.

None of them had ever faced this level of entity before. August had made that clear.

“You sure about this, old man?” Graham asked, standing beside him now, looking at the house like he could see the memories trapped inside. “You’re sure this is safe?”

August didn’t answer. They already knew the answer.

* * * * * *

They entered just before dusk.

The house wasn’t empty. The furniture was still in place, untouched except for the dust clinging to every surface. The air was stagnant, carrying the faint scent of something long decayed. Mark Sullivan’s son and their family had fled two weeks ago, and no one had set foot in it since.

The first shift in the atmosphere came when Christian stepped over the threshold. There was a pressure in the air, subtle but undeniable.

August saw the way his son hesitated, the way his eyes darkened with recognition.

“I don’t like this,” Christian muttered.

“You’re not supposed to,” August replied.

The others began setting up equipment—EMF detectors, thermal cameras, and EVP recorders. Graham checked his infrared scanner, frowning at the abnormally low temperatures.

“This place is colder than it should be,” he said.

August nodded. “It knows we’re here.”

Amelia glanced toward the staircase, where the hallway disappeared into darkness. “Where do we start?”

August gestured toward the back of the house, where the servants’ quarters had once been. “There.”

* * * * * *

It started with the whispers, just above the threshold of hearing. Amelia was the first to notice. She turned, tilting her head.

Then Graham stiffened. “Did you hear that?”

The EVP recorder in Dev’s hand crackled to life, spitting out static before a disembodied voice cut through.

“I know you,” it rasped.

Christian froze beside August, his face going pale.

Dev swallowed hard. “What the hell was that?”

August had heard that voice before. So had Christian. Father and son exchanged a knowing glance.

“Keep going,” August instructed.

They moved deeper into the house, beyond the threshold of safety.

Tanner had described the feeling of being watched. The way something had stood at the foot of his bed, just outside the edges of his vision. He had heard the whispers long before he’d seen anything.

August assumed the entity was still weak.

He was wrong.

Without warning, the house shifted violently, releasing a burst of energy. All at once, everyone’s equipment shorted out, plunging the hallway into darkness. The members of the investigation team gasped in unison, scrambling to get their bearings.

Amelia cursed, fumbling for her flashlight, and when it flicked on, it only illuminated what the darkness wanted them to see.

At the end of the hallway, a figure stood in the doorway of the attic.

It wasn’t human. Not even close.

It was tall and impossibly thin, its form stretching unnaturally, its limbs jerking with each shift of its stance. Its face—if it even had one—was obscured by shadow, but the eyes…

The eyes were all Leslie’s.

August didn’t hear Christian move, but felt him freeze.

The entity spoke again.

“You left her behind.”

Christian staggered back, nearly knocking over the motion sensor camera.

August had spent the last twelve years preparing for this moment. But he hadn’t prepared for the way Christian would break.

The thing in the doorway tilted its head, and as if on command, every single door in the house slammed shut at once.

This time, no one was leaving.

Part IV

The doors did not simply slam shut. They locked, not via traditional means, but held fast by something ancient and otherworldly. The members of the team tried the doorknobs, the latches, and the deadbolts, but no matter what they did, the doors didn’t budge.

The walls around them trembled, carrying a low vibration through the air, a sound too deep for the human ear to fully register, but one that August felt in his core.

Beside him, Christian had gone still, his hands curled into fists. For years, he had refused to acknowledge what had happened to Leslie. Now he couldn’t deny it. It was standing right in front of him.

At the end of the hallway, the entity still loomed in the attic doorway. Its form rippled chaotically, but the eyes remained the same.

Leslie’s eyes.

August forced himself forward, past the others, including Christian, who had yet to break free from his trance. The team was unraveling—Dev was muttering under his breath, Amelia’s fingers hovered near the rosary she always kept tucked into her pocket, and Graham had his hands on his camera, but wasn’t recording.

The air pulsed again, and the darkness around the figure deepened.

Then the voice returned.

“It was supposed to be him.”

Christian flinched at the sound. The entity hadn’t said his name, but he knew instinctively it was referring to him.

At the same time, something inside twisted violently. The house shuddered, floorboards groaning beneath them.

August didn’t hesitate.

“Christian, move!” he ordered, stepping forward. His fingers found the iron talisman at his belt, the one he had used to banish a dozen lesser entities before. Their adversary this evening was stronger, perhaps, but it was still bound by rules—everything had rules, even this.

He lifted the talisman. “Leave this place and never return!” he shouted. “You don’t belong here!”

For a moment, the thing did not react.

Then, it laughed.

It was guttural, jagged, and decidedly inhuman, shifting in pitch like a thousand voices speaking at once. The sound vibrated through the walls, rippling the air.

Then it took a step forward, and August felt something pushing back, a presence sinking into his skull, embedding itself into his memories.

With increasing intensity, the talisman in his grip began radiating heat, and August staggered back, fighting the urge to drop it. But he held tight, even as his skin began to blister.

Christian let out something between a curse and a prayer. Then the entity moved again. One moment, it was in the doorway. The next, it was right in front of him.

Christian did not scream. He didn’t even step back. But August saw a flicker of recognition in his son’s eyes that hadn’t been there before.

The thing tilted its head, its face a blur of shadows, its mouth stretched to an unsettling degree. It reached out to Christian with a spindly, malformed appendage, the space where its fingers should have been writhing and distorted.

Christian didn’t move.

That was when Graham shouted something unintelligible, some sort of incantation, and snapped the moment in half.

The entity reacted violently, the walls shaking with enough force to knock plaster from the ceiling.

“Go!” Graham shouted. “I just bought us some time, but we don’t have forever!”

Amelia was already moving, dragging Christian backward by the arm, when the air shattered. A force unlike anything August had ever felt before ripped through the house, sending everyone sprawling to the floor, and the entity vanished into the dark.

* * * * * *

It took a full minute before anyone spoke.

“That was not a poltergeist,” Graham muttered, shaking his head. He was pale, sweat beading at his forehead.

August didn’t answer. He’d already known that.

Christian was still on the ground, his face slack, staring blankly at the spot where the thing had stood.

August crouched beside him. “Are you hurt?” he asked.

Christian blinked at him, then at his own hands, like he wasn’t sure what had just happened.

Christian swallowed hard. “It knows me,” he said. “It never wanted Leslie. It wanted me.”

The words sent a chill through August’s spine.

He had spent years trying to understand what had happened to Leslie, what had gone wrong, what had drawn that thing to her in the first place.

Now he understood.

It had never wanted Leslie. It had always wanted Christian. It suspected the easiest way to get to him was through his family. And it wasn’t wrong.

Amelia took a deep breath, rubbing her temples. “We need to regroup. Whatever that was, it’s not just some wandering entity. It’s anchored here.”

“No kidding!” Graham barked. “What exactly are we dealing with here?”

August rose to his feet, still watching Christian carefully. His son was shaken but functional, but there was something off—and August knew what it was. He had felt it himself once before, the moment you realize a thing has marked you. Not just haunted you, but claimed you.

“This isn’t over,” August said quietly.

Christian looked up at him. And in his eyes, August saw fear. Not for himself, but for Tanner.

Part V

Christian was somber as they walked back to the vehicles. He hadn’t spoken since they’d left the house, since he’d stared into that thing’s hollow face and recognized its true intentions.

It had never wanted Leslie. It had wanted him, and it had never stopped waiting. It had used Tanner and now Ellie to draw him and his father back in, demonstrating that its reach went beyond the walls of the Manor.

Even as everyone left the house, it was clear to Christian that the entity had no intention of letting him go, and that it would do whatever it took to lure him in and get what it wanted.

* * * * * *

They set up base in an abandoned church on the edge of town. The place had been gutted years ago, pews long since removed, leaving behind a vast, empty hall where prayers had gone unanswered for decades. August had chosen it because it was neutral ground, somewhere untouched by what they had stirred up.

For now.

Graham set up a makeshift workstation, pulling out laptops and monitors, syncing their scattered pieces of footage. Amelia spread out a map of Penridge Manor on the floor, marking the hotspots of activity, her hands moving with practiced precision.

Christian sat off to the side, staring at nothing.

It was Dev who finally broke the silence. “So, what’s the plan?”

August exhaled slowly, running a hand down his face. “We end it.”

Christian’s voice was low and hoarse. “You don’t know how to end it.”

August met his son’s gaze.

For years, Christian had refused to acknowledge what had happened to Leslie, refusing to be a part of anything touched by the ghost-hunting world. But August could see it now—the shift, the realization, the way his son’s denial finally gave way to the truth.

“It’s bound to the house,” August said. “It was never free to roam, never something that could latch onto just anyone. It marked Leslie because she was sensitive, but she wasn’t the one it wanted.”

Christian’s jaw tightened. “It was waiting for me.”

“Yes.”

Amelia cleared her throat. “So how do we stop it?”

“We provoke it into manifesting fully,” August said. “Then we sever its ties to this world for good.”

“Meaning?” Graham pressed.

August’s expression didn’t change.

“Meaning we need bait.”

* * * * * *

The storm hit as they drove back to the house.

Wind howled through the streets, rattling loose shutters, kicking up dust in frantic, swirling bursts. The temperature had dropped sharply, the sky overhead churning black as thick clouds rolled in.

Christian sat in the passenger seat of August’s truck, staring out the window. He hadn’t spoken since they’d left the church.

“Tanner’s safe,” August said after a long pause.

“For now,” Christian replied.

August didn’t argue. He had seen what happened when entities like this latched onto bloodlines.

They didn’t stop until they got what they wanted.

And Christian was the last thread this particular entity had left to pull.

* * * * * *

The house was waiting for them.

The second they stepped inside, the air temperature dropped further.

Christian clenched his fists as his teeth began to chatter. “Let’s get this over with.”

August didn’t hesitate. He moved to the center of the main hall, pulling a satchel of iron filings and salt from his pack. The others followed suit, setting up barriers, chanting quiet protection rites under their breath.

Christian took his place at the center.

August had fought many things before. Spirits. Poltergeists. Wraiths that had forgotten what it was like to be human.

But this was different.

This was personal.

He pulled out the ritual dagger he had carried for years but never yet used for this purpose.

“You ready?” he asked.

Christian’s hands trembled, but his voice was steady. “Yeah.”

August sliced the blade across his palm, letting his blood drip into the circle.

And the house came alive.

* * * * * *

It started with the sound, a deep, unnatural groan. Then the shadows began to move.

Christian staggered back, eyes going wide. “It’s here.”

August gritted his teeth. “Hold your ground.”

The thing emerged from the dark, its form barely human now, its body shifting, unraveling, and reforming.

It did not walk. It drifted.

Then it spoke.

“I have waited,” it rasped.

Christian’s body locked up as the thing loomed closer.

“Keep going!” Amelia snapped, her voice tight with fear. “Don’t stop the damn ritual!”

August threw more iron filings into the air, the particles glowing white-hot as they fell, forming a barrier.

The thing let out a horrid, scraping sound—not quite a scream, not quite a growl. It clawed at the air, but it could not pass the threshold.

August stepped forward. “You don’t belong here.”

The thing laughed. “Neither do you.”

Then it lunged at Christian.

Christian had never been fast enough before. Not when it had taken Leslie. Not when it had followed them through the years, waiting for its moment. But this time he was ready.

As the thing closed in, he lifted the dagger—the same one August had used for the ritual—and drove it forward.

The blade struck home, piercing something that should not have been solid.

The thing screamed, and the house began to collapse.

August grabbed Christian, dragging him toward the door as the walls shook, splintering inward. Meanwhile, the entity thrashed, its form losing cohesion, its shape breaking apart into a violent storm of shadows.

The others were already running, Graham shouting something into his radio, Amelia pulling Dev by the arm.

Then, as suddenly as it had begun, it stopped—and the house went silent.

For the first time in twelve years, August felt the thing let go.

* * * * * *

They stood outside, Christian shaking, watching as the house trembled and shook, as it literally gave up its ghost, crumbling from the sheer force of the eviction, and started smoldering. Then, with little warning, the Manor burst into flames. Before long, it was fully engulfed, and shortly thereafter it began to collapse.

Within fifteen minutes, the Manor had been reduced to little more than an incinerated husk. And as August watched the embers glowing, he sighed in relief and turned to his son.

“It’s over,” August said.

Christian stood quietly and nodded. For the first time in a long time, he believed his father.

Part VI

August had seen his fair share of endings. Some were messy, drenched in regret, the kind that left people hollowed out and searching for something to fill the spaces they’d lost. Others were quieter—clean breaks that left scars but allowed those who survived to walk away.

But as he stood outside what remained of Penridge Manor, watching the final embers sink into the blackened skeleton of its frame, he knew this ending was neither.

Some things, he realized, didn’t end at all. They only faded, waiting to be remembered again.

* * * * * *

Christian sat on the hood of the truck, his face drawn, the lines around his mouth deeper than they had been before. He hadn’t said much since the fire had taken hold, since the house had caved in on itself.

August knew better than to push.

They had spent years at odds, stuck in the wreckage of the past, pretending that time could mend what had been shattered. But now, with nothing left between them but the ashes of an old battle, he could see it—the exhaustion, the resignation, and the way Christian’s hands curled against his thighs, like he was holding onto something too fragile to name.

It wasn’t over. Not really.

“What happens now?” Christian asked.

August didn’t answer immediately. He watched as the last of the flames flickered out, the fire dying but not quite gone, embers still alive beneath the ruin.

“We move on,” August said finally. “Best we can.”

Christian laughed, but it held no humor. “Is that what you did after Leslie?”

August didn’t flinch. He deserved the question.

“I tried,” he admitted. “Didn’t do a very good job of it.”

Christian nodded slowly, as if that was the answer he had expected.

Neither of them said what they were really thinking—that maybe no one ever really moves on.

Maybe, they both thought, some people just learn how to live in the wreckage.

* * * * * *

The hospital smelled like antiseptic and old parchment, time-worn and sterile.

August had never liked medical facilities; he had spent far too much time in them. He had watched too many people fade under the glow of buzzing fluorescents, had heard more than his fair share of the soft beeping of machines measuring what remained of someone else’s life.

Leslie’s room was as still and quiet as it had always been.

Christian lingered near the doorway, hesitant, but August moved forward, drawn by something he couldn’t quite name.

He sat beside her, studying the angles of her face, the way time had softened them.

She had been twenty-three when it happened.

Now, she was thirty-five, and she looked like both and neither at once.

August reached out, letting his fingers brush against hers where they rested against the blanket.

And then, she twitched. It was barely perceptible, like a ripple in still water, but Christian had seen it.

And August had felt it.

“Leslie?” he asked.

She didn’t respond.

But for the first time in twelve years, there was a shift.

Leslie was waking up.

* * * * * *

Leslie’s husband Gregory met them in the hallway.

The look he gave August was the same as it had always been—cold and tired, with a sharp edge dulled only by the weight of too many wasted years.

“You think this changes anything?” Gregory asked.

August didn’t answer right away, because he knew it didn’t.

Leslie was still trapped in that bed, her body alive but her mind lost somewhere he could never reach. One twitch of a finger didn’t erase twelve years. It didn’t fix what had been broken, what had been taken.

But it meant something. And right now, that was enough.

“I don’t know,” August admitted.

Gregory nodded once, then turned and walked away.

They left the hospital without saying much.

Christian drove, Tanner asleep in the back seat.

August watched the road ahead, the yellow glow of streetlights stretching long in the dark, their glow flickering as they passed.

“I don’t think it’s gone,” Christian said eventually. “Not for good, anyway.”

August didn’t look at him. “No. I don’t either.”

Christian gripped the steering wheel a little tighter. “So what do we do?”

August let out a slow breath.

The fire had burned the house down, but it hadn’t burned the thing away. It had just bought them some much-needed time.

But that was the thing about endings.

Some of them weren’t endings at all.

Some of them were just a moment of quiet before another storm.

“It comes back,” August said, “we’ll be waiting. And we’ll be ready. We may not be perfect, but we’re family, and that’s worth fighting for.”