Elsbeth slammed the bedroom door behind them, her heart hammering as she jammed her shoulder against it. Cordelia spun, wild-eyed, chest heaving.


    “Give me that chair!” Elsbeth barked.


    Cordelia shoved the chair toward her, and Elsbeth wedged it beneath the knob, jamming it tight.


    A heartbeat later, the door shuddered.


    A guttural, snarling wail erupted from the other side as something slammed into it, hard. The whole frame shook, dust sifting from the rafters.


    Cordelia backed toward the window, already prying it open with both hands. The frame, swollen and warped with age, resisted.


    “Come on, come on,” she gritted through her teeth.


    Another slam. The chair beneath the knob creaked, but held—for now.


    When Cordelia finally forced the window up, fresh air rushed in, colliding with the rising heat licking up the staircase. Even from here, the thick scent of burning oil was overpowering, the fire below roaring out of control.


    We don’t have much time.


    Elsbeth spun, yanking at the heavy, floor-length curtains. They tore loose in a cascade of dust and fabric.


    “Tie this to the bedframe,” she snapped, dragging the sturdy wooden bed closer to the window.


    Cordelia worked fast, wrapping the thick fabric around the carved headboard. She knotted it tight, then tugged. The bedframe groaned, shifting across the wooden floor—but the curtain held.


    Elsbeth exhaled in relief. Twelve feet down. Doable. Not ideal, but they wouldn’t break their necks.


    Then—another crash at the door. The chair jumped but still held..


    It was now or never, and Elsbeth didn’t hesitate.


    Throwing one leg over the windowsill, she grabbed the curtain in both hands, the fabric wrapped around her waist to brace the descent. The wind bit her face, and for a fleeting, ridiculous second, she was thankful she hadn’t worn a dress for this little adventure. Then she laughed at herself; the least of her problems right now was someone seeing her naked legs or frilly undergarments.


    Elsbeth gave one last look down. Then she dropped.


    The curtain twisted, her grip burning as she slid down, her boots scraping against the rough stone exterior. At the last second, she let go and landed in a crouch, the cold ground jarring her knees.


    Above, Cordelia leaned out the window.


    “Hurry!” she called.


    Elsbeth stepped back, prepared to catch her if she fell.


    Cordelia swung one leg over, gripped the curtain, and slid down faster than Elsbeth, her palms slick with sweat from the heat.


    She dropped the last few feet, stumbling backwards, and Elsbeth caught her elbow before she fell.


    They turned in time to see the boys running from the kitchen door, Harrow at their side. The fire consumed the farmhouse, the glow spreading in the windows, black smoke billowing into the night.


    The ground beneath them rumbled. A deep, groaning crack shuddered through the air.


    Then, the chimney collapsed.


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    A cascade of brick and soot crashed into the sitting room, taking part of the exterior wall with it.


    And there—half-buried in the rubble—something long and wooden tumbled loose.


    Cordelia froze, her breath catching.


    Then she moved.


    Elsbeth managed to grab her arm, holding her back. “Are you mad?”


    But Cordelia wasn’t listening. Her gaze locked on the object, half-hidden in the wreckage.


    A long wooden box.


    Cordelia tried to pull away, but Elsbeth’s grip tightened.


    “Let me go—that’s what they were searching for! It’s important. I have to know what it is.”


    Elsbeth yanked Cordelia back, their faces nearly colliding.


    “You are not going into that fire. Nothing in that box is worth dying for.”


    Cordelia hesitated, then nodded. “Okay,” she murmured, her voice soft and resigned.


    Elsbeth’s eyes narrowed. Too easy. Cordelia never backed down that easily—she was all-or-nothing, a reckless force of nature who did as she pleased. That’s when she caught it—Cordelia''s fleeting glance toward the flames, her fingers twitching at her side.


    Mother-loving God.


    Elsbeth spun to see Percy vanish into the burning wreckage.


    “Percy!”


    Percy leapt from one collapsed beam to another, his silhouette almost invisible against the searing glow. Flames licked the sky, and thick, black smoke billowed upward, smothering the stars. Nothing would be left of him if he fell—if the house caved in. They wouldn’t even have a body to bury.


    Hex lurched forward with a noticeable limp. His trousers were shredded and soaked with blood where the ghoul’s claws had torn through. The ghouls had almost killed them all—and now, Percy was throwing himself headfirst into the fire, all for a box.


    They would have a serious talk about taking reckless risks after this.


    “Catch!” Percy’s voice rang out, hoarse from the smoke, and a wooden box tumbled through the air. She watched it flip end over end before landing in Hex’s outstretched hands.


    Hex immediately dropped it with a yelp, shaking out his scorched fingers. “Bloody hell—hot!” He gave it a few gentle kicks towards Cordelia before stepping back, cradling his singed hand against his chest.


    Then, as Percy turned to escape, a beam collapsed before him with a deafening crash, sending embers and fire roaring skyward.


    “For God’s sake, Percy—be careful!” Elsbeth screamed.


    The farmhouse groaned under its weight. The entire second floor was coming down.


    Percy rocked back on his heels, eyes darting to the flames around him and then to the crumbling floor ahead. He had seconds.


    Hex planted himself near the threshold, extending a hand. “Come on, Percy—I’ve got you!”


    Percy sucked in a breath, bent his knees—and jumped.


    The moment he leapt, the structure gave way, sending flaming debris crashing into the cellar below. A wall of heat blasted over them like the breath of some ancient, angry god.


    Hex caught Percy in mid-air, staggering under the impact as they hit the dirt. Percy gasped, his hands and clothes singed, his face streaked with soot. His once-blond hair was smoked black, and for a brief moment, he looked eerily like the ghouls they’d just fought.


    Elsbeth’s first instinct was to berate him for being a reckless idiot. But the words caught in her throat.


    They had almost lost him.


    “I can’t believe you—” she started, but stopped herself. Hex was shaking his head, still breathless from exertion.


    The farmhouse was now a roaring inferno, flames leaping from what remained of the collapsed roof. A shower of sparks drifted skyward like fireflies as the structure buckled, sending more beams crashing inward. Beyond the house, the barn stood within reach of the embers, its dry wood threatening to catch. Even the sodden fields wouldn’t hold back the fire forever.


    They’d face something close to an international incident if they didn''t leave now.


    Elsbeth forced her voice to remain level. “We need to move. Percy, you’re driving. Hex needs medical attention.”


    Percy and Hex spoke at the same time. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”


    Hex gave a ragged chuckle. “I can still drive, Els. I’ll get us out of here, then you can tend to my leg and… well, everything else.” He held out his injured hand for her to inspect. His fingers looked swollen, and there were dark bruises on his knuckles.


    Elsbeth exhaled in anger, whipping around to face Cordelia. “This couldn’t have gone worse. We walked straight into danger, completely unaware. We need to be smarter next time."


    "You need to be smarter,” she said, emphasizing the point with an accusing finger.


    Cordelia, to her credit, didn’t argue. “Agreed. We’re dealing with something far more sinister than we expected.” She tapped the box with her fingertips. “Whatever’s in here might tell us who’s behind all this—and why.”


    Elsbeth rolled her eyes. “You''re going to get us all killed in the process. And for what? A mystery box?"


    She turned to Percy. “And you. You can gloat about your heroic stupidity later—right now, we need to disappear.”


    There were no protests. No arguments. Everyone knew the truth: they had survived tonight, but that outcome had been anything but certain.


    The mood was grim as they turned toward the carriage, the distant crackle of flames behind them a warning.


    If there was one they all knew, the discussion of tonight’s near failure was far from over. Elsbeth would see to that.