Jack never thought anyone would come back to live here. Not after everything that had happened. Not after the blood, the screams, the bodies hidden under the floorboards.

And yet, there she was. At 8 Goodge Place.

Sandie's former house. The one he had turned into a trap, a grave. The walls had been repainted, the wallpaper changed. But the past still oozed from the foundations. Jack could feel it. Because he was a part of it.

Jack no longer really existed. He no longer had a chair, no more smell, no more breath. But he still had a conscience. And an obsession. Her.

The reincarnation of his half-sister, returned to this house by a twist of fate. She knew nothing. She thought she had found a charming old apartment in the heart of London. She had no idea she had walked into her own grave.

Jack would follow her like a shadow. He glided through mirrors, through drafts, into corners where the light didn't reach. At night, he saw her sitting at Sandie's dressing table—the very one he'd touched, years before, watching another woman prepare to sing there.

And sometimes, she said his name in her dreams. Jack. A barely audible whisper. But he heard her. He always heard her.

Jack didn't know if he wanted her to remember... or if he wanted to keep her that way. Innocent. Fragile. Malleable.

But one thing was certain: she would never leave 8 Goodge Place again.