Chapter 9: The Shadows Deepen

Elliot stared at Emma, her words hanging heavy in the damp, claustrophobic air of the hidden room.

“Who?” he managed, his voice low and steady, though his heart pounded in his chest.

“It’s Madeleine,” Emma whispered, her voice cracking. “We found her in the sitting room. She… she’s gone.”

Elliot’s jaw tightened. Madeleine had been one of the most guarded among them, sharp-tongued and suspicious of everyone. He hadn’t liked her much, but the thought of her lifeless—just another casualty of this nightmare—sent a cold shiver down his spine.

Emma’s trembling voice cut through his thoughts. “I can’t do this anymore, Elliot. We’re all going to die here, aren’t we?”

He stepped closer, lowering his voice. “We’re not dying here. Not if we can figure out what’s going on.”

Emma’s wide eyes met his, tears threatening to spill over. “And what if it doesn’t matter? What if they’re going to kill us anyway?”

Elliot didn’t have an answer.

The sitting room was colder than Elliot remembered, its once grand furnishings now draped in shadow. Sam and Jonah were standing near the fireplace, their faces pale, their shoulders stiff with tension. Madeleine’s body was slumped in an armchair, her head tilted at an unnatural angle. Her hands hung limply over the edges of the chair, her fingers curling slightly as if in protest.

Elliot stepped closer, his stomach twisting at the sight. Her face was pale, her lips slightly parted as though she had tried to speak before the end.

“What happened?” he asked, his voice low.

“She was like this when we found her,” Jonah said, his voice barely above a whisper. “We heard something—a crash or… I don’t know. When we got here, she was already dead.”

Elliot’s eyes scanned the room, searching for anything out of place. There was no blood, no obvious signs of struggle. Just Madeleine, lifeless in the chair, her body eerily still.

“Look at her hands,” Elliot said, pointing.

Jonah frowned, leaning in closer. “What about them?”

“They’re not relaxed,” Elliot replied. “It’s like she was holding onto something. Something important.”

Carefully, he pried her right hand open. A small piece of paper, crumpled and damp with sweat, was pressed into her palm.

Elliot unfolded it, his pulse quickening as he read the familiar handwriting:

“The past is catching up. It always does.”

Sam let out a harsh breath. “Another damn note. What does it mean this time?”

“It’s another warning,” Elliot muttered. He turned the paper over, finding something scrawled on the back in faint ink:

“The truth is hidden where the light dies.”

“The light dies?” Jonah asked, frowning. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Elliot pocketed the note, already thinking. “It’s pointing us to something. A place. Somewhere dark, maybe underground.”

Jonah scoffed. “Like the crypt? We’ve already been there, and all we found was a dead butler and more questions.”

“Then it’s somewhere else,” Elliot said firmly. “This house is full of secrets. We’ve barely scratched the surface.”

They spread out to search the mansion, though none of them dared go alone. Elliot stayed close to Emma as they combed through the east wing, their footsteps echoing in the empty halls.

“Do you think Madeleine knew something?” Emma asked quietly.

“Maybe,” Elliot said. “Or maybe she was close to figuring it out, and that’s why she’s gone now.”

Emma shuddered. “I don’t want to end up like her, Elliot. I can’t…”

“You won’t,” he said quickly. “We’ll get through this. Together.”

Her eyes softened for a moment, and she nodded. But the fear in her expression didn’t fade.

They found the hidden passage by accident.

Elliot had been running his hand along the wall of an old bedroom, searching for any cracks or seams, when Emma stumbled into a faded painting. It swung outward with a low groan, revealing a narrow staircase descending into darkness.

Elliot held out a hand, stopping her from moving forward. “Wait. Let me go first.”

Emma nodded, stepping back as Elliot grabbed the lone flashlight he’d brought with him. The beam cut through the darkness as he descended the stairs, the cold air wrapping around him like a shroud.

The staircase ended in a small, windowless room. The walls were lined with shelves filled with old ledgers, dusty books, and jars of preserved specimens. A single lantern hung from the ceiling, casting weak light over the space.

“What is this?” Emma whispered, stepping in behind him.

Elliot didn’t answer. His eyes were drawn to a desk in the corner, where a stack of photographs lay scattered across the surface.

He picked one up, his breath catching. It was a picture of Madeleine, taken from behind as she walked down a crowded street. Another showed Jonah, sitting at a poker table, his face tense and focused.

“They’ve been watching us,” Elliot muttered.

Emma’s hand covered her mouth. “Why? Why go to all this trouble?”

Elliot’s gaze shifted to the wall behind the desk. Tacked to it were newspaper clippings, maps, and more photographs, all connected by a web of red string. At the center of the web was a single name: Ashworth.

Elliot stepped closer, his heart pounding.

The strings didn’t just lead to the Ashworth name—they led to him.

At the bottom of the web was a photograph he hadn’t seen before: a much younger version of himself, standing outside Wintercroft Hall.

And beneath it, scrawled in jagged handwriting, were the words:

“He knows.”