Chapter 3

They entered the manor again.

This time, the air felt alive. Watching.

The compass went berserk the moment they crossed the threshold. The needle spun so fast it cracked.

Dr. Ashford cursed. "We're standing on top of it."

"Then where—"

A crash.

Serena whirled around.

Julian had stumbled into a side table. A porcelain vase shattered on the floor.

"Jesus, Julian—"

"I'm sorry, I—" He froze. "Wait."

Among the shards, something small and leather-bound.

A journal.

Serena picked it up. Flipped through it. Blank pages. Nothing.

She sneered. "Of course. Even his diary is useless."

She moved to tear it apart.

Dr. Ashford snatched it from her hands.

"Don't."

"Excuse me—"

"This isn't blank." Dr. Ashford's voice was sharp. She began muttering under her breath—Latin, old Welsh, something ancient.

The pages began to shimmer.

Words bled through. Ink appearing like wounds opening.

"It's a death diary," Dr. Ashford whispered. "Written by the deceased. Hidden by a curse."

Serena's face twisted. "Read it."

Dr. Ashford opened to the first page.