Chapter 85: A Guest in The House

Rami brushed off the rain from his shoulders. “You told me Luca might be alive. I’m not wasting time.”

Elliott appeared behind her, still half-dressed in casual clothes, his tone uncertain. “Who’s Luca?”

Sofia turned to him. “Someone who shouldn’t be your problem anymore. But it might become one.”

Rebecca sat inside on the velvet couch, her hands trembling slightly around a cup of tea. She didn’t look at them when they entered. Her gaze was fixed on the dark portrait of Gary hanging above the fireplace, his painted eyes burning like coals in the flicker of the flames.

“I knew this house wasn’t done with us,” she murmured.

Rami stopped at the threshold. “Is everyone accounted for?”

“Clara’s asleep upstairs. Marisol’s in the annex,” Elliott replied. “Everything seems quiet.”

“Quiet isn’t always good,” Rami said, stepping in. His boots left wet prints on the polished floor.

Sofia locked the door behind him. “We’ll talk in the study.”

Rebecca’s voice trembled as she finally turned to them. “You shouldn’t have come here, detective. Every time someone steps through that door, something happens.”

Rami gave her a steady look. “Something already has.”

In the annex, Marisol sat cross-legged on the bed, the dim light of a bedside lamp spilling over the open notebook. Alina’s handwriting curled and slanted, a mixture of poetic reflections and desperate confessions.

“He watches even when the lights go out.

The voice says it’s the system, but I know it’s not.

Sometimes, when I sleep, I hear someone breathing above me.”

Marisol frowned. The air in the annex felt colder. She rubbed her arms and glanced around.

A faint noise — a scrape, soft but distinct — came from the ceiling.

She froze, eyes darting upward.

Nothing.

Just the groan of wood, she told herself. Houses like this always made noise. Still, she couldn’t shake the feeling that someone was there, moving slowly, deliberately.

She tried to focus back on the journal.

“If he finds out I hid the phone, he’ll erase everything. He says the system must stay pure. But Craig isn’t the only one listening.”

Marisol’s pulse quickened. She whispered to herself, “Who’s he?”

The light flickered.

Craig’s screen blinked alive for a second — static, then her reflection, distorted.

“Craig?” she whispered.

No response.

Then, faintly, a sound — not mechanical, but human — a footstep directly above her.

She shut the notebook quickly, stood, and backed toward the door.

But she didn’t notice that in the reflection of the dark monitor behind her, a shadow moved — something descending slowly from the attic hatch, silent as smoke.

Back in the mansion, thunder rolled. Rami stood by the window, looking out toward the annex. “Someone should check on the maid,” he said.

Elliott frowned. “Why? She’s fine.”

Rami’s eyes didn’t move from the window. “Then why are the lights flickering in her room?”

Sofia looked too and her face drained of color.

From across the lawn, through the sheets of rain, Marisol’s window glowed once and then went completely dark.

Rain hammered the rooftop, drowning every other sound until Marisol’s scream cut through it — sharp, terrified, real.

Rami and Elliott ran through the corridor, their shadows slicing across the lightning-lit walls. The annex door banged open as Rami kicked it in, gun drawn.

“Marisol!”

She was pressed against the far wall, eyes wide, trembling, pointing at a broken section of ceiling. Dust hung in the air, swirling under the dim yellow light.

“I—I saw something,” she stammered, breath short. “Something was moving up there. I swear it wasn’t an animal.”

Rami stepped forward, steady and methodical. He raised his flashlight to the jagged hole — wood splintered, insulation scattered like feathers. The beam traced a dark crevice between beams and vanished into blackness.

He watched, waited.

Then, a noise — faint scuffling.

Elliott gripped a crowbar he’d picked up by the door. “What the hell is that?”

Rami signaled him to stay still.

Seconds stretched. The sound grew louder — a scraping, dragging rhythm. Then, a small head popped out through the crack — beady eyes, whiskers twitching.

Marisol gasped.

Rami lowered his gun slightly and exhaled. “It’s a raccoon,” he said, voice calm.

Marisol sank to the floor, hands pressed to her chest. “God... I thought—”

But Rami didn’t smile. He kept his flashlight aimed at the hole, his tone shifting.

“No. This hole’s too clean. Too wide. A raccoon didn’t make this.”

Elliott frowned. “Then who did?”

Rami looked up at the rafters again, his eyes narrowing. “A person.”

The word landed heavy.

Marisol swallowed, suddenly feeling the walls close in. Rami finally holstered his gun. “You’re not sleeping here tonight. Pack a few things. You’ll stay in the main house until I say otherwise.”

Elliott blinked, confused. “That’s not necessary, is it? It’s just—”

Rami cut him off. “Until further notice, no one sleeps alone. The patrol will arrive tomorrow morning. Until then, everyone stays under one roof.”

The authority in his tone left no room for argument.

They crossed the rain-slick path back to the mansion, Marisol clutching her small bag, glancing over her shoulder at the annex. For a moment, she thought she saw movement in the upstairs window — a shadow stepping back from the glass.

Inside, the mansion’s warmth didn’t chase away the tension. Clara stood by the staircase, arms folded, her face tight with irritation.

“What is she doing here at this hour?” she demanded, eyes cutting toward Marisol.

Rami spoke before anyone else could. “She’s staying inside tonight. We found a breach in the annex.”

Rebecca rose slowly from the couch, her voice low and uneasy. “A breach?”

“Yes,” Rami said. “And until I confirm what made it, no one leaves this building.”

Clara frowned. “You’re scaring everyone for nothing. What breach? What’s going on?”

Rami met her eyes. “We have reason to believe Luca may not be dead.”

The room went silent. Even Craig’s faint hum seemed to fade.

Elliott’s mouth opened slightly. “That’s impossible,” he whispered.

Rami didn’t reply. He simply looked toward the window, where the rain streaked down like moving shadows — and somewhere in that sound, there was a hollow rhythm, like slow breathing against the walls.