By nightfall, the vines had learned how to whisper.
Eleanor pressed her palm against the ivy crawling up the stone wall of Elias’s estate, her eyes unfocused, breath slow. The leaves trembled, then stilled, as if the house itself had decided to listen.
“He’s angry,” she murmured. “Not the shouting kind. The planning kind.”
My stomach tightened. “About me?”
“About erasing you.”
I didn’t need clarification.
Through the open study window, Elias’s voice drifted into the corridor, smooth as polished wood and twice as dangerous.
“She’s a problem that refuses to die,” he said. “If the house goes up in flames, the town will finally move on.”
Mabel whimpered. “Burn it? People will talk—”
“People already talk,” Elias snapped. “And they believe me.”
My hands curled into fists. Heat crawled up my spine, that familiar thorned pressure blooming beneath my skin. He wasn’t even hiding it anymore. He never had to.
Eleanor pulled back from the wall, face pale. “Tonight,” she said. “He wants it done tonight.”
Jasper swore under his breath.
We split up.
I changed into a borrowed coat, pulled my hood low, and followed the sound of hymn-singing to the church’s back courtyard. Lanterns hung from crooked posts, illuminating a circle of bowed heads and folded hands. The same people who refused to sell me bread now prayed for my soul.
Elias stood near the center.
So did Caleb.
They were arguing in low voices, sharp enough to cut through the murmurs.
“You can’t keep doing this,” Caleb hissed. “My father lost everything because of you.”
Elias smiled thinly. “Your father lost his position because he forgot who runs this town.”
Caleb’s hands shook. I brushed past a woman and let my fingers graze the sleeve of his coat.
The world tilted.
I saw Elias leaning across a desk, signing papers while Caleb’s father stood frozen, accusations pouring like acid. I felt the shame. The rage. The moment a career shattered under a lie.
I pulled back, heart pounding.
Caleb looked straight at me.
Not through me. At me.
“You,” he said quietly.
Elias turned. His eyes narrowed. “Do you know this girl?”
I lowered my hood.
Gasps rippled through the crowd.
Before Elias could speak, I stepped closer to Caleb. “Your uncle is lying to you. About me. About your father. About this town.”
Caleb’s jaw tightened. “I know.”
The silence was deafening.
“My father was framed,” Caleb said louder. “And so was her family. The Elias name was built on theft and fire.”
Mabel shrieked. “You ungrateful boy—”
Caleb turned to me. “The proof is in his study. Old records. Witch trial ledgers. He keeps them like trophies.”
Elias lunged forward. “You traitorous—”
But I was already backing away, pulse roaring in my ears.
The study door was unlocked.
Elias had always believed his house untouchable.
The air inside was thick with dust and arrogance. Jasper photographed documents while Eleanor stood guard. I was drawn to an old wooden chest beneath the desk.
The moment I touched it, the past ripped through me.
A woman screaming as ropes cut into her wrists. A crowd chanting. Elias’s ancestor whispering accusations into a magistrate’s ear. Lies stacking upon lies, each one sealing my family’s fate.
I staggered back, choking.
Inside the chest were yellowed trial records—and beneath them, a contract. Development plans. Resort blueprints.
“He’s selling the swamp,” Jasper breathed. “Poisoning it, then buying it cheap.”
Footsteps echoed.
I turned—
—and found the Reverend standing in the doorway, clutching a bundle of papers like a confession.
“I kept these,” he said softly. “Because someone had to remember the truth.”
He placed the original trial records into my shaking hands.
Outside, sirens wailed in the distance.
Elias was losing control.
And for the first time, Blackley felt like it might finally wake up.