The rule had been made very clear.

There was one room in the house no one was allowed to enter. Henry Creel’s bedroom.

The children whispered about it when they thought he wasn’t listening. Some said it was locked because of monsters. Others said Henry kept something fragile inside—something that didn’t belong in a house like this. Henry never corrected them. He only said, calmly and with an edge that made even the bravest hesitate, that they were not to go in unless he allowed it.

And they obeyed.

Mostly.

Henry was gone that afternoon, the house quieter than usual, the walls humming with that strange, ever-present tension that followed him everywhere. Holly wandered the halls with the restless curiosity of someone who had already been told “no” one too many times. Max noticed.

“You know,” Max said quietly, leaning against the banister, “he’s not here.”

Holly looked at the closed bedroom door at the end of the hall. The forbidden one.

“He said not to,” Holly replied, but her feet were already moving.

Max hesitated—then shrugged. “Just… be quick.”

The door wasn’t locked.

That alone surprised Holly.

She pushed it open slowly, expecting darkness, or cold, or something frightening enough to make her run.

Instead, she found warmth.

Soft light filtered through half-drawn curtains, casting gold across a neatly kept room. The air smelled faintly of old books and something floral. Against the wall rested a cane—polished wood, well-used, placed carefully as if it were an extension of the person who owned it.

And on the bed lay a man.

He was smaller than Henry—slighter, gentler somehow. Propped against pillows, dark hair falling loosely around his face, his posture careful, deliberate. When he looked up, his expression immediately softened into a wide, genuine smile.

“Oh,” he said warmly, voice kind and calm. “Hello there.”

Holly froze.

“I— I’m sorry,” she blurted. “I didn’t know anyone was—”

“That’s alright,” the man interrupted gently. “You’re not in trouble.”

He shifted just a little, careful with his movements. Holly noticed then how he didn’t try to stand, how the cane remained untouched by the wall. His eyes were kind, observant, intelligent.

“What’s your name?” he asked.

“Holly.”

“Well, it’s very nice to meet you, Holly.” He patted the bed beside him. “Would you like to sit?”

She hesitated—then nodded.

As she climbed onto the bed, she noticed the ring on his left hand. Old, worn smooth with age. It didn’t sparkle, but it didn’t need to. It looked cherished.

“Are you married?” she asked innocently.

The man glanced down at the ring, a fond smile tugging at his lips. “Yes,” he said softly. “Very much so.”

“To Henry?” Holly asked.

His smile deepened. “Yes. To Henry.”

Holly blinked. That didn’t match the Henry she knew—the quiet, intense man with eyes that seemed to see through people.

“He loves you?” she asked.

“With everything he has,” the man replied without hesitation. “And more than he should, sometimes.”

Holly giggled. “You’re really nice.”

“Thank you,” he said. “I try to be.”

Then the air shifted.

The warmth in the room didn’t disappear—but something heavier settled over it, like a storm cloud passing over the sun.

Footsteps.

Holly turned just as the bedroom door opened wider.

Henry stood there.

His presence filled the room instantly—tall, rigid, eyes sharp and dangerous as they swept the scene. His gaze locked onto Holly first, cold and calculating.

Then it moved to the bed.

To his husband.

The change was immediate.

The sharpness melted, replaced by something fierce and protective, something deeply personal. Henry crossed the room in long strides, stopping beside the bed.

“Are you alright?” he asked, voice low, directed only at him.

“I’m fine,” his husband said gently, reaching out to rest his hand over Henry’s. “She was very polite.”

Henry’s jaw tightened as he looked back at Holly—but there was no anger there. Only warning.

“I told you not to come in here,” he said quietly.

“I’m sorry,” Holly whispered.

Henry exhaled slowly, then straightened. “Go back downstairs.”