The lights had started flickering hours ago.

At first, you’d both laughed it off — blamed it on the storm outside, on the ancient wiring in the house Damiano had insisted was “just perfect for a Halloween weekend getaway.” But then the laughter had faded. The air had gotten colder. And the silence in between the thunder felt heavier than it should.

You sat curled up on the couch, staring at the window. Rain slid down the glass in jagged lines, reflecting flashes of lightning that made the room look different every time. You didn’t even realize Damiano was watching you until his voice cut through the quiet.

“You’ve been staring at that for ten minutes,” he said softly, crouching beside you. “You okay?”

You blinked, forcing a small smile. “Yeah, just tired. The storm’s... weird.”

He frowned, studying your face. “You’re pale.”

You almost joked that everyone looks pale under candlelight — until you caught sight of yourself in the dark windowpane. For a split second, you swore you saw your reflection blink a moment after you did.

You froze.

Damiano noticed immediately. “Hey,” he said, reaching out, his hand resting gently against your cheek. “Look at me.”

You did — and for a second, the flickering light caught something in your eyes he didn’t like. His brow furrowed, voice low. “You’re shaking.”

“I just…” your voice cracked, “…I thought I saw something.”

He turned toward the window — empty, just rain and darkness. “It’s the lightning. You’re spooking yourself.”

You wanted to believe him. But when he turned back, the candlelight behind him sputtered again — and this time, the flame bent toward you, like it was pulled by something unseen.

Damiano’s hand tightened slightly on your arm. “Okay,” he murmured, more to himself than to you. “That’s not normal.”

You swallowed hard, your throat dry. “Damiano…”

He looked at you again — and for the first time all night, you saw it in his face: not fear, exactly, but realization. The kind that comes when something clicks into place too late.

“It’s not the storm,” he said quietly. “It’s this place.”

The lights flickered once more — and in that split second of darkness, something whispered your name. Not in your voice.

Damiano pulled you closer without thinking, his arm wrapping around you. “Hey—hey, look at me. Whatever this is, it’s not real. You hear me?”

Your pulse was racing, your hands trembling as he held your face between his palms. He was close enough now that you could see the reflection of the flame in his eyes — one candle, two shadows behind you.