The air in the basement was thick, hard to breathe as it started. Everyone moved into position like they’d rehearsed this a hundred times before, though the dread on their faces said otherwise. We were all scared of what failing here would mean. Something about this time was… different.

  Shelta was the first to kneel, her short, black hair falling forward as she whispered the old words under her breath. Aunt Raven joined her, hands trembling as she took her place on the opposite side of the circle. Raine, River, and Rose moved next, each one of them visibly terrified but standing firm.

  They formed a perfect ring around Autumn’s still body, their eyes closing in silent concentration. The markings on the floor, black, red, and ash-gray, began to hum faintly, the faintest shimmer of light crawling along the edges of the circle.

  Patrick stood at the edge, the green hairbrush clutched in his hand. It didn’t look like much, not for what it represented; the vessel that had once trapped the curse, the anchor for something older than any of us. His fingers were white-knuckled around the handle. He was scared, but he knew he had to do it… to save Autumn.

  When he stepped forward, I saw the terror flicker across his face. He looked to me once, like he needed me to tell him this was what I wanted him to do… always looking for forgiveness for what he had brought onto Autumn. I nodded. That was all I could give him, because part of me was still unsure if I could ever forget what he’d done.

  Patrick exhaled, dropped to both knees beside Autumn, and placed the brush on the ground between them. His hand hovered for a moment, then came down gently over hers; her still, cold hands clasped over her stomach.

  The silence before the surge was absolute. Then the air cracked.

  A sound like static filled the basement, and the lines of the ritual circle ignited in a blinding green light. The force of it rippled through the room, rattling every loose pipe and nail. The candles guttered and flared, and a low hum built from somewhere deep beneath the floor, like the earth itself was grinding against the power, trying to tear the curse out.

  Autumn’s body arched upward, her back bowing off the concrete, still unconscious. From her mouth, from her eyes, from beneath her fingernails, that same sickly green glow began to seep out in pulses. It moved like liquid smoke, curling upward, searching for something to invade.

  Patrick gritted his teeth as the energy reached him. His body shuddered violently as tendrils of green light wrapped around his arms, his neck, his chest. His skin glowed faintly from within, veins standing out like dark rivers under the light.

  The connection between them was visible now, a thread of power linking Autumn’s heart to his. It pulsed, stronger and stronger, until both of them were trembling from the force of it. This curse had bound them, linked their souls together through obsession. Shelta had said it once before… and now it was laid bare for us all to see. An arc of emerald energy bound two people so unnaturally. It sent a chill through me as goosebumps raised the hairs on my arms and scalp.

  Shelta’s voice rose above the sound, whispering something old in another language, and the others joined her in broken rhythm. Sweat slowly poured down their faces as the circle tightened, the air thickening to the point of suffocation as the minutes dragged on.

  The whole house began to shake. Dust fell from the rafters. The lights flickered wildly. I could feel the energy pressing against my skin, crawling across my nerves like insects. The curse was spreading outward, trying to find something else to latch onto as the Wicklow bloodline tried their new method, using the brush as both a lure and a trap.

  Patrick gasped, his hands tightening over Autumn’s. “It’s… she’s… she’s fighting it!”

  “Hold it!” Raven shouted, her voice cracking under the strain. “Don’t let go of her!”

  The green energy flared violently, bursting outward from Autumn for an instant before drawing back into her again, like a heartbeat too large for a mortal body. Autumn’s eyes shot open, glowing with that terrible emerald light, and Patrick’s echoed them; twin reflections of something beyond our control. It was in both of them again.

  Then, slowly, the pull began to… shift. The energy that had been lashing between them grew sluggish, its wild rhythm faltering. It began to pour downwards, spiraling into the hairbrush resting between them. The green light gathered around it, threads of energy weaving through the bristles like veins of liquid fire.

  The women around the circle wavered. River’s knees buckled, Raine cried out as blood trickled from her nose, and Shelta’s chant faltered for the first time. The circle dimmed, flickered, then flared again as Raven slammed her hands down, forcing it to hold.

  “Almost there!” she shouted through gritted teeth.

  The air was vibrating now, the sound of it almost unbearable. I wanted to move, to help, but I couldn’t even breathe.

  The green light pulsed in both of them one last time… then shuttered.

  A burst of energy erupted from both Autumn and Patrick at once, throwing yellowish-green sparks across the floor around the two kids inside. The hairbrush began to absorb it, the light drawing inward until the plastic object started to glow. After a few seconds of absorbing the power, it was almost blinding. A ringing began to build in the basement as all the green energy began to slither out of them and into the brush, growing brighter and louder. For a heartbeat, I thought it would explode or something.

  Then… silence.

  The lights dimmed, the trembling stopped, and the green fire sank fully into the brush. Patrick collapsed on his side, his hands slipping from hers. Autumn’s body stilled once more, slumping to the ground as gravity snatched her back down.

  The circle was broken, and the air smelled of ozone and something charred. No one moved. No one spoke. I didn’t know if the ritual had worked… if the curse was gone or just hiding. But as I looked at the brush, now dull and lifeless again, I couldn’t shake the feeling that it wasn’t over.

  The silence that followed felt unreal, like everyone in the room forgot how to move. For a moment, all I could hear was the faint flicker of the candles dying out, one by one, their light snuffed to smoke. Rose was the first to stir. She stumbled backward, covering her face with both trembling hands as if afraid to believe what she’d just seen. River caught her by the shoulders before she fell, and the two of them stood there, breathless, their faces shining with tears.

  Across the circle, Raven and her daughter, Raine, clung to each other, both sobbing, both laughing; too exhausted to know the difference. Shelta stood still in the center, her hands still faintly twitching with attuned power, eyes hollowed from weeks without real sleep.

  And then… they began to smile. We had done it… they all knew it. We felt it… It couldn’t be put into words, but… we did it.

  It happened slowly, cautiously, as if they were testing the fragile weight of hope, but it spread. Rose let out a broken laugh and threw her arms around River. Raven pulled them both in, and soon all five of them were together in the middle of the room, crying and shaking, their bodies trembling with relief. It was odd in that moment, seeing all of them looking so similar, like they could be sisters, even across the generational lines. The Wicklow bloodline was a strong one, all of them sharing the same traits: black hair, green eyes, and that look that I couldn’t quite place. Annabelle had it too, just much older.

  Even Martin let out a quiet breath beside me, a sound that almost resembled a thankful prayer.

  I didn’t realize I’d been holding mine until I exhaled.

  For the first time in weeks, the tension in my chest loosened just a little. I could still feel the pulse of the ritual under my boots, faint but fading. The green light that had haunted our nights for nearly a month was dimming at last. The circle was broken, the energy spent, and in the center were Patrick and Autumn lying motionless.

  I didn’t want to move; I didn’t want to get my hopes up only to have failed again. But when Eleanor turned toward me, her face slick with tears and relief, and gave me that small, weary smile… God, I wanted to believe. I wanted it so badly my heart hurt just to feel a smidgen of peace again.

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  Then Patrick stirred. His hand twitched. His chest rose and fell. The sound of his breath, ragged and real, filled the room like a lifeline. Shelta and Sarah both gasped and dropped to their knees beside him, steadying him as he blinked back into consciousness.

  “She’s… she’s okay?” he rasped, voice barely more than a whisper.

  It made him appear better in my mind's eye that he was more concerned for Autumn in that first moment of waking.

  Sarah’s laugh came out as a sob. “You did it, Patrick. You both did it.”

  Shelta knelt beside him, her voice softer than I’d ever heard it. “Rest. It’s over now.”

  Over…

  The word rang in my head like a bell, echoing down every sleepless night, every hour I’d sat outside Autumn’s cage door listening to her cry and growl and speak things to us that she’d never say. I swallowed hard, my throat tight. Could it really be over?

  Patrick smiled faintly, turning his head toward Autumn. “Hey, Autumn… It’s over,” he whispered, his hand resting over hers.

  And then… she moved.

  It was so small, so normal, a twitch of her fingers. But I felt every muscle in my body seize. Her chest rose sharply, a gasping breath breaking from her lips like someone drowning and suddenly finding air. Everyone froze again as we watched her.

  “Autumn?” Eleanor said quietly. “Sweetheart, can you hear us?”

  Her eyelids fluttered open. For a heartbeat, I saw my little girl… the same deep, brown eyes that used to light up when I came home from work, the same face that would fall asleep against my arm during thunderstorms. Even her hair had reverted to the same deep brown as her mother's. It was her… my sweet… sweet girl. She was back.

  I felt tears form at the edges of my eyes that threatened to spill over. We all felt it… We saw her. She was there, back where she belonged… with her family.

  Martin went to sit by Alex, who was still crying near the edge of the basement. Uncle Chris lowered his guard, set his blade down on a workbench. Wayland and Frank exhaled almost in unison as they both found a seat and just let themselves relax for a second as they felt the final end to this torture we’d all been enduring. All the sleepless nights, all the terror of losing Autumn… it was all gone. In that moment, we were a family again, untainted by the vicious infection that was Peter Grimwood’s curse. I breathed in easily, seeing Everyone let their guards down and slowly approach Autumn.

  But then… something changed.

  Her gaze locked on Patrick, and her pupils dilated so much that the brown disappeared, swallowing the color. A sound came from her throat, low and guttural, like something alive but wrong.

  Everyone flinched in the quick moment, the hope and faith that it had worked stopped and started spinning backwards before anyone could understand the feeling.

  Shelta took a step forward, voice trembling. “Stay with us, Autumn. You’re safe, love, you’re safe… It’s finally over.” Her words were a weak clinging hope laced in confusion.

  And then Autumn snapped upright. The motion was violent, jarring. The surface of the concrete floor shattered beneath her, a wave of force bursting outward as the candles exploded in green fire, lighting the room back to that same eerie glow.

  I stumbled back, shielding my face from the surge of brightness. The air itself seemed to twist and scream in my ears.

  We all realized in a breathless moment the truth…

  “Autumn!” I shouted, my voice breaking.

  She didn’t hear me.

  Her head whipped toward Patrick… her mouth curling back into something feral. There was no recognition there. No flicker of the girl I’d raised. Only raw, animal rage. Her eyes had dilated to almost completely black, and then they slowly receded, and where her brown eyes had just been… the same hateful green had returned. Her hair darkened again, like black ink rolled down from her scalp and coated every hair on her head. The curse… it was still in her.

  Before any of us could move, she lunged.

  It was fast… too fast. Patrick barely had time to look up before she was on him, the floor trembling beneath her as she surged forward, hands curled into claws as she pinned him to the ground.

  “NO!” I yelled, my body already moving… too slow.

  In that moment, everything moved in almost slow motion. Martin and Alex blurred into motion, faster than human sight, but even they couldn’t reach her in time. The Wicklow girls were already priming again, trying to call back the power they’d just spent, but it was too late. Eleanor’s scream tore through the basement, high and raw, as she dropped to her knees beside me in anguish.

  Patrick didn’t move. He didn’t even raise a hand to defend himself. His eyes, those quiet, heavy eyes, met mine for the briefest instant. And in them, I saw the truth. He wasn’t going to fight her. He was too tired, too guilty, and just too done with it all.

  In that moment of slow motion as I perceived everything happening all at once, the world erupted. A shockwave tore out of Autumn through the basement, a burst of invisible force that rattled the very foundation of the house. It flung the Wicklow girls back like rag dolls and sent Alex and Martin crashing into the far wall, leaving cracks in the concrete where their bodies hit. My ears rang, and my vision warped as it shoved me back ten feet through the air. I hit a workbench, knocking guns from the wall as I collided.

  Through the chaos… I saw her… my daughter, still there in the middle of it all, mounted on top of a defenseless Patrick.

  Autumn’s now-black hair floated around her like smoke, shifting around her on currents of unseen force, her eyes burning with green fire, inky-black veins crawling dark beneath her pale skin. Her chest heaved, her breath coming in ragged bursts that weren’t quite human.

  Then she raised her hand. A silver blade… one of mine from the rack, ripped itself free and flew across the room, slapping into her open palm. She caught it without flinching, metal searing her skin like she was a creature of the night, and for a moment she just stared down at it. An eerie joy came across her lips as she smiled and then stared down at Patrick.

  He didn’t even try to run. He just exhaled… a quiet, broken sound; and in that breath, I could almost hear his thoughts.

  Autumn screamed in a rage. It wasn’t a human sound. It was fury, grief, hunger… all of it fused into one unbearable wail as she lunged down at him. The motion was a blur, a violent collapse of distance.

  The first stab hit deep; so deep that the sound it made didn’t even seem real. Flesh, bone, and the wet thud of impact. Then another… and another… and another. Her blade went in and out of Patrick’s face, neck, and upper chest in a way so vile and cruel it made me sick. To see this boy… a boy I had watched grow up… go through that… I wanted to vomit. My insides shuddered with too many things to understand.

  She drove the blade into him over and over again, her movements wild, brutal, and in no way rhythmic. The sound was wet and ugly, echoing against the walls like a heartbeat gone mad as we all watched on in horror. Blood sprayed across her face, splattered her clothes, dripped from her chin in long red strings as she never relented.

  Eleanor’s scream broke into sobs. Raven pulled Rose back before she could run forward. Alex shouted something inaudible over the horror, but didn’t move. Couldn’t move against the image she was watching. Something in her eyes looked broken… like she had failed in whatever she was trying to do here, for Sam.

  I couldn’t breathe.

  Autumn didn’t stop until Patrick’s body sagged beneath her, the knife still buried in his left eye socket. She stared down at him, trembling, her lips parting in a soundless whisper. Her eyes were wild, unfocused, but then… just for a heartbeat… they softened. She touched his cheek, her bloody fingers shaking.

  And then it hit me… like the air itself had disappeared from my chest. The curse. The binding between them.

  Shelta’s words tore through my skull, echoing, hammering… they were bound. The curse had bound and tethered them.

  Patrick’s blood was still warm, steaming faintly in the cold air of the basement. Autumn’s chest still rose and fell in shallow, ragged gasps, like her body was trying to fight its way back from something too deep to name. But then… something broke inside her.

  Her eyes rolled back… slowly, lifelessly, and she made this tiny sound, like a breath caught halfway between a sob and a gasp. Her spine buckled, and she just… folded. Like her strings had been cut.

  She hit the floor with a dull, final thud, collapsing over Patrick’s still form. The knife slid from her grip, scraping across the concrete with that unbearable sound of metal on stone, shrill and wrong. And the light in her eyes, that hateful green glow that had taken my daughter from me, flickered once… then vanished.

  For a heartbeat, I didn’t understand what I was looking at. Then it hit me, and I broke next.

  My voice tore out of me before I even knew it was there. “No! No, Autumn!”

  I stumbled forward, nearly falling over the debris on the floor, from whatever that blast had been. My knees crashed beside her as I reached for her face. Her skin was already cooling beneath my hands.

  “Baby, please… please no, no, you can’t…”

  My words were broken, half-choked. The basement spun. I could hear Eleanor somewhere behind me, crying out, high, sharp, hysterical, but it sounded miles away.

  “Wake up!” I shouted, shaking her shoulders, blood smearing up my arms. “Autumn, please, it’s over! It’s over, you’re safe now…” I tried to convince myself that we were back in that peace we had a few moments ago.

  But her head just lolled against my arm. Her eyes stared blankly past me, empty and glassy.

  I could feel it… the moment she slipped away. That last faint hum of life that only a parent can feel in their child. It just… went quiet.

  My breath came in short, sharp bursts. I couldn’t make sense of anything… why she was gone, why Patrick was still beneath her, why there was no pulse, no warmth, nothing left. I couldn’t even see straight. My vision blurred from the shock and the tears.

  I pressed my forehead against hers and just sobbed, shaking so violently my teeth clattered. I didn’t care that everyone was watching. I didn’t care that the blood was seeping into my clothes or that the circle around us was still faintly glowing as the cursed power dispersed from both of their bodies and the brush.

  I only knew one thing… my daughter was gone. But I clutched her tighter, like I could hold on tight enough to pull her back to me.

  Somewhere behind me, someone whispered my name, soft and trembling, but I couldn’t look away. I couldn’t. I had to keep her face the one thing I could see in that moment. I couldn't let her go.

  The silence stretched out like the grave itself. And when the last pulse of green light bled from the basement and died in the dark, I knew with a hollow certainty that the curse had claimed them both. Now it was gone… Its purpose was complete.

  The curse had finally been broken… only by breaking us. Everything we had been would now be forever changed.